LI  B RA  HY 


OF  THE 

U N I VLRS  ITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 


©z\.oe> 

BSlb 

\t>04 


C ZJ 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below.  A 
charge  is  made  on  all  overdue 
books. 

University  of  Illinois  Library 


NOU  19.1982 


27214 


Copyright,  1890, 

By  Leach,  Shewell,  & Sanborjsl 


C.  J.  Peters  & Son. 
Typographers  and  Electrotypers. 


Press  of  Berwick  & Smith. 


/‘/u 


PREFACE. 

♦ 

Probably  no  teacher  of  English  literature  in  our 
schools  or  colleges  would  gainsay  the  statement  that 
the  chief  aim  of  such  instruction  is  to  awaken  in  the 
student  a genuine  love  and  enthusiasm  for  the  higher 
forms  of  prose,  and  more  especially  for  poetry.  For 
love  is  the  surest  guarantee  of  extended  and  independent 
study,  and  we  teachers  are  the  first  to  admit  that  the 
class-room  is  but  the  vestibule  to  education.  So  in 
beginning  the  critical  study  of  English  poetry  it  seems 
reasonable  to  use  as  a starting-point  the  early  ballads, 
belonging  as  they  do  to  the  youth  of  our  literature,  to 
the  youth  of  our  English  race,  and  hence  appealing  with 
0 especial  power  to  the  youth  of  the  human  heart.  Every 
* man  of  letters  who  still  retains  the  boy-element  in  his 

f nature  — and  most  men,  Sir  Philip  Sidney  tells  us,  are 
“ children  in  the  best  things,  till  they  be  cradled  in  their 
graves  ” — has  a tenderness  for  these  rough,  frank,  spirited 
old  poems,  while  the  actual  boy  in  years,  or  the  actual 
^ girl,  rarely  fails  to  respond  to  their  charm.  What  Shake- 

rspeare  knew,  and  Scott  loved,  and  Eossetti  echoes,  can 
hardly  be  beneath  the  admiration  of  high  school  and 
<i  university  students.  Eugged  language,  broken  metres, 


1Y 


PREFACE. 


absurd  plots,  dubious  morals,  are  impotent  to  destroy  the 
vital  beauty  that  underlies  all  these.  There  is  a philo- 
sophical propriety,  too,  in  beginning  poetic  study  with 
ballad  lore,  for  the  ballad  is  the  germ  of  all  poem  varieties. 

This  volume  attempts  to  present  such  a selection  from 
the  old  ballads  as  shall  represent  them  fairly  in  their 
three  main  classes,  — those  derived  from  superstition, 
whether  fairy-lore,  witch-lore,  ghost-lore,  or  demon-lore; 
those  derived  from  tradition,  Scotch  and  English;  and 
those  derived  from  romance  and  from  domestic  life  in 
general.  The  Scottish  ballads,  because  of  their  far 
superior  poetic  value,  are  found  here  in  greater  number 
than  the  English.  The  notes  state  in  each  case  what 
version  has  been  followed.  The  notes  aim,  moreover,  to 
give  such  facts  of  historical  or  bibliographical  impor- 
tance as  may  attach  to  each  ballad,  with  any  indispensa- 
ble explanation  of  outworn  or  dialectic  phrases,  although 
here  much  is  left  to  the  mother-wit  of  the  student. 

It  is  hoped  that  this  selection  may  meet  a definite 
need  in  connection  with  classes  not  so  fortunate  as  to 
have  access  to  a ballad  library,  and  that  even  where 
such  access  is  procurable,  it  may  prove  a friendly  com- 
panion in  the  private  study  and  the  recitation-room. 

KATHARINE  LEE  BATES. 

Wellesley  College, 

March,  1904. 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 


INTRODUCTION IX 

BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 

The  Wee  Wee  Man 3 

Tamlane  4 

True  Thomas 12 

The  Elfin  Knight 15 

Lady  Isobel  and  the  Elf-Knight 18 

Tom  Thumbe 21 

Kempion 33 

Alison  Gross 37 

The  Wife  of  Usher’s  Well 39 

A Lyke-Wake  Dirge 41 

Proud  Lady  Margaret 43 

The  Twa  Sisters  o’  Binnorie 48 

The  Demon  Lover 53 

Riddles  Wisely  Expounded 56 

BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 

Sir  Patrick  Spens 61 

The  Battle  of  Otterburne 65 

The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot 71 

Edom  o’  Gordon 83  / 

Kinmont  Willie 89 

King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury  . . 97 

Robin  Hood  Rescuing  the  Widow’s  Three  Sons  . 101 

Robin  Hood  and  Allin  A Dale 106 

Robin  Hood’s  Death  and  Burial Ill 

v 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS.  page 

Annie  of  Lochroyan 117 

Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet  .......  123 

The  Banks  o’  Yarrow 129 

The  Douglas  Tragedy 133 

Fine  Flowers  T the  Y alley 136 

The  Gay  Goss-Hawk 140 

Young  Redin 145 

Willie  and  May  Margaret 150 

Young  Beichan 155 

Gilderoy 162 

Bonny  Barbara  Allan 166 

The  Gardener 168 

Etin  the  Forester 169 

Lamkin 177 

Hugh  of  Lincoln 182 

Fair  Annie 185 

The  Laird  o’  Drum 189 

Lizie  Lindsay 192 

Katharine  Janfarie 196 

Glenlogie 199 

Get  Up  and  Bar  the  Door 201 

The  Lawlands  o’  Holland 203 

The  Twa  Corbies  . . . . * 204 

Helen  of  Kirconnell  . . 295 

Waly  Waly 207 

Lord  Ronald 208 

Edward,  Edward 209 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  development  of  poetry,  the  articulate  life  of  man, 
is  hidden  in  that  mist  which  overhangs  the  morning  of 
history.  Yet  the  indications  are  that  this  art  of  arts 
had  its  origin,  as  far  back  as  the  days  of  savagery, 
in  the  ideal  element  of  life  rather  than  the  utilitarian. 
There  came  a time,  undoubtedly,  when  the  mnemonic 
value  of  verse  was  recognized  in  the  transmission  of 
laws  and  records  and  the  hard-won  wealth  of  experience. 
Our  own  Anglo-Saxon  ancestors,  whose  rhyme,  it  will 
be  remembered,  was  initial  rhyme,  or  alliteration,  have 
bequeathed  to  our  modern  speech  many  such  devices  for 
“ the  knitting  up  of  the  memory,”  largely  legal  or  popular 
phrases,  as  bed  and  board , to  have  and  to  hold , to  give  arid 
to  grant , time  and  tide , wind  and  wave , gold  and  gear  ; or 
proverbs,  as,  for  example : When  bale  is  highest , boon  is 
nighest,  better  known  to  the  present  age  under  the  still 
alliterative  form:  The  darkest  hour’s  before  the  dawn. 
But  if  we  may  trust  the  signs  of  poetic  evolution  in  bar- 
barous tribes  to-day,  if  we  may  draw  inferences  from  the 
sacred  character  attached  to  the  Muses  in  the  myths  of 
all  races,  with  the  old  Norsemen,  for  instance,  Saga  being 
the  daughter  of  Odin,  we  may  rest  a reasonable  confi- 

vii 


Yiii  INTRODUCTION. 

dence  upon  the  theory  that  poetry,  the  world  over,  finds 
its  first  utterance  at  the  bidding  of  the  religious  instinct 
and  in  connection  with  religious  rites. 

Yet  the  wild-eyed  warriors,  keeping  time  by  a rude 
triumphal  chant  to  the  dance  about  the  watch-fire,  were 
mentally  as  children,  with  keen  senses  and  eager  imag- 
ination, but  feeble  reason,  with  fresh  and  vigorous  emo- 
tions, but  without  elaborate  language  for  these  emotions. 
Swaying  and  shouting  in  rhythmic  consent,  they  came 
slowly  to  the  use  of  ordered  words  and,  even  then,  could 
but  have  repeated  the  same  phrases  over  and  over.  The 
burden  — sometimes  senseless  to  our  modern  understand- 
ing— to  be  found  in  the  present  form  of  many  of  our 
ballads  may  be  the  survival  of  a survival  from  those 
primitive  iterations.  The  “ Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds, 
blaw”  of  The  Elfin  Kniglit  is  not,  in  this  instance,  inap- 
propriate to  the  theme,  yet  we  can  almost  hear  shrilling 
through  it  a far  cry  from  days  when  men  called  directly 
upon  the  powers  of  nature.  Such  refrains  as  “ Binnorie, 
0 Binnorie,”  “ Jennifer  gentle  an’  rosemaree,”  “Down, 
a down,  a down,  a down,”  have  ancient  secrets  in  them, 
had  we  ears  to  hear. 

One  of  the  vexed  questions  of  criticism  regarding  these 
refrains  is  whether  they  were  rendered  in  alternation 
with  the  narrative  verses  or  as  a continuous  under-song. 
Early  observers  of  Indian  dances  have  noted  that,  while 
one  leaping  savage  after  another  improvised  a simple 
strain  or  two,  the  whole  dancing  company  kept  up  a 
guttural  cadence  of  “ Heh,  heh,  heh ! ” or  “ Aw,  aw,  aw ! ” 
which  served  the  office  of  musical  accompaniment.  This 
choral  iteration  of  rhythmic  syllables,  still  hinted  in  the 


INTRODUCTION. 


IX 


refrain,  but  only  hinted,  is  believed  to  be  the  original 
element  of  poetry. 

In  course  of  time,  however,  was  evolved  the  individual 
singer.  In  the  earlier  stages  of  society,  song  was  un- 
doubtedly a common  gift,  and  every  normal  member  of 
the  community  bore  his  part  in  the  recital  of  the  heroic 
deeds  that  ordinarily  formed  the  subject  of  these  prime- 
val lays.  Were  it  the  praise  of  a god,  of  a feasting 
champion,  or  of  a slain  comrade,  the  natural  utterance 
was  narrative.  Later  on,  the  more  fluent  and  inventive 
improvisers  came  to  the  front,  and  finally  the  professional 
bard  appeared.  Somewhere  in  the  process,  too,  the  bur- 
den may  have  shifted  its  part  from  under-song  to  alter- 
nating chorus,  thus  allowing  the  soloist  opportunity  for 
rest  and  recollection. 

English  ballads,  as  we  have  them  in  print  to-day,  took 
form  in  a far  later  and  more  sophisticated  period  than 
those  just  suggested;  yet  even  thus  our  ballads  stand 
nearest  of  anything  in  our  literature  to  the  primitive 
poetry  that  was  born  out  of  the  social  life  of  the  com- 
munity rather  than  made  by  the  solitary  thought  of  the 
artist.  Even  so  comparatively  small  a group  as  that  com- 
prehended within  this  volume  shows  how  truly  the  ballad 
is  the  parent  stock  of  all  other  poetic  varieties.  In  the 
ballad  of  plain  narrative,  as  The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot , 
the  epic  is  hinted.  We  go  a step  further  in  A Lytell 
Geste  of  Robyn  Hode , — too  long  for  insertion  in  this  col- 
lection, but  peculiarly  interesting  from  the  antiquarian 
point  of  view,  having  been  printed,  in  part,  as  early  as 
1489, — and  find  at  least  a rough  foundation  for  a genuine 
hero-lay,  the  Lytell  Geste  being  made  up  of  a number  of 


X 


INTRODUCTION. 


ballads  rudely  woven  into  one.  A poem  like  this,  though 
hardly  “ an  epic  in  miniature,”  — a phrase  which  has  been 
proposed  as  the  definition  of  a ballad,  — is  truly  an  epic 
in  germ,  lacking  the  finish  of  a miniature,  but  holding  the 
promise  of  a seed.  Where  the  narrative  is  highly  colored 
by  emotion,  as  in  Helen  of  Kirconnell  or  Waly  Waly , the 
ballad  merges  into  the  lyric.  It  is  difficult  here  to  draw 
the  line  of  distinction.  A Lyke-Wake  Dirge  is  almost 
purely  lyric  in  quality,  while  The  Lawlands  o’  Holland , 
Gilderoy , The  Twa  Corbies , Bonny  Barbara  Allan , have 
each  a pronounced  lyric  element.  From  the  ballad  of 
dialogue  we  look  forward  to  the  drama,  not  only  from  the 
ballad  of  pure  dialogue,  as  Lord  Ronald , or  Edward , 
Edward , or  that  sweet  old  English  folk-song,  too  long  for 
insertion  here,  The  Not-Browne  Mayd,  but  more  remotely 
from  the  ballad  of  mingled  dialogue  and  narrative,  as 
The  Gardener  or  Fine  Flowers  V the  Valley. 

The  beginnings  of  English  balladry  are  far  out  of  sight. 
From  the  date  when  the  race  first  had  deeds  to  praise  and 
words  with  which  to  praise  them,  it  is  all  but  certain  that 
ballads  were  in  the  air.  But  even  the  mediaeval  ballads 
are  lost  to  us.  It  was  the  written  literature,  the  work  of 
clerks,  fixed  upon  the  parchment,  that  survived,  while 
the  songs  of  the  people,  passing  from  lip  to  lip  down 
the  generations,  continually  reshaped  themselves  to  the 
changing  times.  But  they  were  never  hushed.  While 
Chaucer,  his  genius  fed  by  Norman  and  Italian  streams, 
was  making  the  fourteenth  century  reecho  with  that 
laughter  which  “ comes  never  to  an  end”  of  the  Canter- 
bury story-tellers;  while  Langland,  even  his  Teutonic 
spirit  swayed  by  French  example,  was  brooding  the 


INTRODUCTION . 


XI 


gloomy  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman , — gloom  with  a 
star  at  its  centre ; while  those  “ courtly  makers/7  Wyatt 
and  Surrey,  were  smoothing  English  song,  which  in  the 
hands  of  Skelton  had  become  so 

“Tatter’d  and  jagged, 

Rudely  raine-beaten, 

Rusty  and  moth-eaten,” 

into  the  exquisite  lyrical  measures  of  Italy ; while  the 
mysteries  and  miracle-plays,  also  of  Continental  impulse, 
were  striving  to  do  God  service  by  impressing  the  Scrip- 
ture stories  upon  their  rustic  audiences,  — the  ballads 
were  being  sung  and  told  from  Scottish  loch  to  English 
lowland,  in  hamlet  and  in  hall.  Heartily  enjoyed  in  the 
baronial  castle,  scandalously  well  known  in  the  monas- 
tery, they  were  dearest  to  the  peasants. 

“Lewd  peple  loven  tales  olde  ; 

Swiche  thinges  can  they  wel  report  and  holde.” 

The  versions  in  which  we  possess  such  ballads  to-day 
are  comparatively  modern.  Few  can  be  dated  further 
back  than  the  reign  of  Elizabeth ; the  language  of  some 
is  that  of  the  eighteenth  century.  But  the  number  and 
variety  of  these  versions  — the  ballad  of  Lord  Ronald , for 
instance,  being  given  in  fifteen  forms  by  Professor  Child 
in  his  monumental  edition  of  The  English  and  Scottish 
Popidar  Ballads  ; where  “ Lord  Ronald,  my  son/7  appears 
variously  as  “ Lord  Randal,  my  son/7  “ Lord  Donald,  my 
son/7  “King  Henrie,  my  son/7  “Lairde  Rowlande,  my 
son/7  “ Billy,  my  son/7  “ Tiranti,  my  son/7  “ my  own 
pretty  boy/7  “ my  bonnie  wee  croodlin  dow/7  “ my  little 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION. 


wee  eroudlin  doo,”  “Willie  doo,  Willie  doo,”  “my  wee 
wee  croodlin  doo  doo  ” — are  sure  evidence  of  oral  trans- 
mission, and  oral  transmission  is  in  itself  evidence  of 
antiquity.  Many  of  our  ballads,  moreover,  — nearly  a 
third  of  the  present  collection,  as  the  notes  will  show,  — 
are  akin  to  ancient  ballads  of  Continental  Europe,  or  of 
Asia,  or  both,  which  set  forth  the  outlines  of  the  same 
stories  in  something  the  same  way. 

It  should  be  stated  that  there  is  another  theory 
altogether  as  to  the  origin  of  ballads.  Instead  of  re- 
garding them  as  a slow,  shadowed,  natural  growth, 
finally  fossilized  in  print,  from  the  rhythmic  cries  of 
a barbaric  dance-circle  in  its  festal  hour,  there  is  a 
weighty  school  of  critics  who  hold  them  to  be  the  mere 
rag-tag  camp-followers  of  mediaeval  romance.  See,  for 
instance,  the  clownish  ballad  of  Tom  Thumbe , with  its 
confused  Arthurian  echoes.  Some  of  the  events  recorded 
in  our  ballads,  moreover,  are  placed  by  definite  local  tradi- 
tion at  a comparatively  recent  date,  as  Otterburne , Edom 
o’  Gordon , Kinmont  Willie.  What  becomes,  then,  of  their 
claims  to  long  descent  ? If  these  do  not  fall,  it  is  because 
they  are  based  less  on  the  general  theme  and  course  of 
the  story,  matters  that  seem  to  necessitate  an  individual 
composer,  than  on  the  so-called  communal  elements  of 
refrain,  iteration,  stock  stanzas,  stock  epithets,  stock  num- 
bers, stock  situations,  the  frank  objectivity  of  the  point 
of  view,  the  sudden  glimpses  into  a pagan  world. 

In  the  lands  of  the  schoolhouse,  the  newspaper,  and 
the  public  library,  the  conditions  of  ballad-production  are 
past  and  gone.  Yet  there  are  still  a few  isolated  com- 
munities in  Europe  where  genuine  folk-songs  of  spon- 


INTRODUCTION . 


Xlll 


taneous  composition  may  be  heard  by  the  eavesdropper 
and  jotted  down  with  a surreptitious  pencil;  for  the 
rustics  shrink  from  the  curiosity  of  the  learned  and  are 
silent  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  The  most  precious  con- 
tribution to  our  literature  from  such  a source  is  The  Bard 
of  the  Dimbovitza , an  English  translation  of  folk-songs 
and  ballads  peculiar  to  a certain  district  of  Eoumania. 
They  were  gathered  by  a native  gentlewoman  from  among 
the  peasants  on  her  father’s  estate.  “ She  was  forced/’ 
writes  Carmen  Sylva,  Queen  of  Eoumania,  one  of  the  two 
translators,  “ to  affect  a desire  to  learn  spinning,  that  she 
might  join  the  girls  at  their  spinning  parties,  and  so  over- 
hear their  songs  more  easily ; she  hid  in  the  tall  maize 
to  hear  the  reapers  crooning  them,  . . . she  listened  for 
them  by  death-beds,  by  cradles,  at  the  dance,  and  in  the 
tavern,  with  inexhaustible  patience.  . . . Most  of  them 
are  improvisations.  They  usually  begin  and  end  with  a 
refrain.” 

The  Celtic  revival,  too,  is  discovering  not  only  the  love 
of  song,  but,  to  some  extent,  the  power  of  improvisation 
in  the  more  remote  corners  of  the  British  Isles.  In- 
stances of  popular  balladry  in  the  west  of  Ireland  are 
given  by  Lady  Gregory  in  her  Poets  and  Dreamers. 

The  Eoumanians  still  have  their  lute-players;  old 
people  in  Galway  still  remember  the  last  of  their  wander- 
ing folk-bards ; but  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  a century  ago, 
had  to  call  upon  imagination  for  the  picture  of 

“ Each  Caledonian  minstrel  true, 

Dressed  in  his  plaid  and  bonnet  blue, 

With  harp  across  his  shoulders  slung, 

And  music  murmuring  round  his  tongue.” 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION7. 


Fearless  children  of  nature  these  strolling  poets  were, 
even  as  the  songs  they  sang. 

“Little  recked  they,  our  bards  of  old, 

Of  autumn’s  showers,  or  winter’s  cold. 

Sound  slept  they  on  the  ’nighted  hill, 

Lulled  by  the  winds,  or  bubbling  rill, 

Curtained  within  the  winter  cloud, 

The  heath  their  couch,  the  sky  their  shroud ; 

Yet  theirs  the  strains  that  touch  the  heart,  — 

Bold,  rapid,  wild,  and  void  of  art.” 

The  value  and  hence  the  dignity  of  the  minstrel’s 
profession  declined  with  the  progress  of  the  printing- 
press  in  popular  favor,  and  the  character  of  the  gleemen 
suffered  in  consequence.  This  was  more  marked  in  Eng- 
land than  in  Scotland.  Indeed,  the  question  has  been 
raised  as  to  whether  there  ever  existed  a class  of  English- 
men who  were  both  ballad-singers  and  ballad-makers. 
This  was  one  of  the  points  at  issue  between  those  emi- 
nent antiquarians,  Bishop  Percy  and  Mr.  Ritson,  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  Dr.  Percy  had  defined  the  English 
minstrels  as  an  “ order  of  men  in  the  middle  ages,  who 
subsisted  by  the  arts  of  poetry  and  music,  and  sung  to 
the  harp  the  verses  which  they  themselves  composed.” 
The  inflammable  Joseph  Ritson,  whose  love  of  an  honest 
ballad  goes  far  to  excuse  him  for  his  lack  of  gentle 
demeanor  toward  the  unfaithful  editor  of  the  Reliques , 
pounced  down  so  fiercely  upon  this  definition,  contending 
that,  however  applicable  to  Icelandic  skalds  or  Norman 
trouveres  or  Provencal  troubadours,  it  was  altogether  too 
flattering  for  the  vagabond  fiddlers  of  England,  roughly 
trolling  over  to  tavern  audiences  the  ballads  borrowed 


INTRODUCTION. 


XV 


from  their  betters,  that  the  dismayed  bishop  altered  his  last 
clause  to  read,  “ verses  composed  by  themselves  or  others.” 
Sir  Walter  Scott  sums  up  this  famous  quarrel  with  his 
characteristic  good-humor.  “ The  debate,”  he  says,  “ re- 
sembles the  apologue  of  the  gold  and  silver  shield.  Dr. 
Percy  looked  on  the  minstrel  in  the  palmy  and  exalted 
state  to  which,  no  doubt,  many  were  elevated  by  their 
talents,  like  those  who  possess  excellence  in  the  fine  arts 
in  the  present  day ; and  Ritson  considered  the  reverse  of 
the  medal,  when  the  poor  and  wandering  gleeman  was 
glad  to  purchase  his  bread  by  singing  his  ballads  at  the 
ale-house,  wearing  a fantastic  habit,  and  latterly  sinking 
into  a mere  crowder  upon  an  untuned  fiddle,  accompany- 
ing his  rude  strains  with  a ruder  ditty,  the  helpless  asso- 
ciate of  drunken  revellers,  and  marvellously  afraid  of  the 
constable  and  parish  beadle.” 

There  is  proof  enough  that,  by  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 
the  printer  was  elbowing  the  minstrel  out  into  the  gutter. 
In  Scotland  the  strolling  bard  was  still  not  without  honor, 
but  in  the  sister  country  we  find  him  denounced  by  ordi- 
nance together  with  “ rogues,  vagabonds,  and  sturdy  beg- 
gars.” The  London  stalls  were  fed  by  Grub-street  authors 
with  penny  ballads  — trash  for  the  greater  part  — printed 
in  black-letter  on  broadsides.  Many  of  these  doggerel 
productions  were  collected  into  small  miscellanies,  known 
as  Garlands , in  the  reign  of  James  I. ; but  few  of  the  gen- 
uine old  folk-songs  found  a refuge  in  print.  Yet  they  still 
lived  on  in  corners  of  England  and  Scotland,  where  “the 
spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun”  crooned  over  half- 
remembered  lays  to  peasant  children  playing  at  their  feet. 
In  1723  a collection  of  English  ballads,  made  up  largely, 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


though,  not  entirely,  of  stall-copies,  was  issued  by  an 
anonymous  editor,  not  a little  ashamed  of  himself  be- 
cause of  his  interest  in  so  unworthy  a subject;  for  al- 
though Dryden  and  Addison  had  played  the  man  and 
given  kindly  entertainment  — the  one  in  his  Miscellany 
Poems , the  other  in  The  Spectator  — to  a few  ballad- 
gypsies,  yet  poetry  in  general,  that  most  “flat,  stale,  and 
unprofitable  ” poetry  of  the  early  and  middle  eighteenth 
century,  disdained  all  fellowship  with  the  unkempt, 
wandering  tribe. 

In  the  latter  half  of  that  century,  however,  occurred 
the  great  event  in  the  history  of  our  ballad  literature. 
A country  clergyman  of  a literary  turn  of  mind,  resi- 
dent in  the  north  of  England,  being  on  a visit  to  his 
“worthy  friend,  Humphrey  Pitt,  Esq.,  then  living  at 
Shiffnal  in  Shropshire,”  had  the  glorious  good  luck  to 
hit  upon  an  old  folio  manuscript  of  ballads  and  romances. 
“ I saw  it,”  writes  Percy,  “ lying  dirty  on  the  floor  under 
a Bureau  in  ye  Parlour ; being  used  by  the  Maids  to  light 
the  fire.” 

“A  scrubby,  shabby  paper  book”  it  may  have  been, 
with  some  leaves  torn  half  away  and  others  lacking 
altogether,  but  it  was  a genuine  ballad  manuscript,  in 
handwriting  of  about  the  year  1650,  and  Percy,  realizing 
that  the  worthy  Mr.  Pitt  was  feeding  his  parlor  fire  with 
very  precious  fuel,  begged  the  tattered  volume  of  his 
host  and  bore  it  proudly  home,  where  with  presumptuous 
pen  he  revised  and  embellished  and  otherwise,  all  inno- 
cently, maltreated  the  noble  old  ballads  until  he  deemed, 
although  with  grave  misgivings,  that  they  would  not  too 
violently  shock  the  polite  taste  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


INTRODUCTION . 


XYll 


The  eighteenth  century,  wearied  to  death  of  its  own 
politeness,  worn  out  by  the  heartless  elegance  of  Pope 
and  the  insipid  sentimentality  of  Prior,  gave  these  fresh, 
simple  melodies  an  unexpected  welcome,  even  in  the  face 
of  the  reigning  king  of  letters,  Dr.  Johnson,  who  forbade 
them  to  come  to  court.  But  good  poems  are  not  slain  by 
bad  critics,  and  the  old  ballads,  despite  the  burly  doctor’s 
displeasure,  took  henceforth  a recognized  place  in  Eng- 
lish literature.  Herd’s  delightful  collection  of  Scottish 
songs  and  ballads,  wherein  are  gathered  so  many  of  those 
magical  refrains,  the  rough  ore  of  Burns’  fine  gold, — 
“ Green  grow  the  rashes  0,”  “ Should  auld  acquaintance 
be  forgot,”  “ For  the  sake  o’  somebody,”  — soon  followed, 
and  Bitson,  while  ever  slashing  away  at  poor  Percy,  often 
for  his  minstrel  theories,  more  often  for  his  ballad  emen- 
dations, and  most  often  for  his  holding  back  the  original 
folio  manuscript  from  publication,  appeared  himself  as  a 
collector  and  antiquarian  of  admirable  quality.  Mean- 
while Walter  Scott,  still  in  his  schoolboy  days,  had 
chanced  upon  a copy  of  the  Reliques , and  had  fallen  in 
love  with  ballads  at  first  sight.  All  the  morning  long  he 
lay  reading  the  book  beneath  a huge  platanus-tree  in  his 
aunt’s  garden.  “ The  summer  day  sped  onward  so  fast,” 
he  says,  “that,  notwithstanding  the  sharp  appetite  of 
thirteen,  I forgot  the  hour  of  dinner,  was  sought  for  with 
anxiety,  and  was  found  still  entranced  in  my  intellectual 
banquet.  To  read  and  to  remember  was  in  this  instance 
the  same  thing,  and  henceforth  I overwhelmed  my  school- 
fellows and  all  who  would  hearken  to  me,  with  tragical 
recitations  from  the  ballads  of  Bishop  Percy.  The  first 
time,  too,  I could  scrape  a few  shillings  together,  which 


XV  111 


INTRODUCTION . 


were  not  common  occurrences  with  me,  I bought  unto 
myself  a copy  of  these  beloved  volumes,  nor  do  I believe 
I ever  read  a book  half  so  frequently,  or  with  half  the 
enthusiasm.” 

The  later  fruits  of  that  schoolboy  passion  were  gar- 
nered in  Scott’s  original  ballads,  metrical  romances,  and 
no  less  romantic  novels,  all  so  picturesque  with  feudal 
lights  and  shadows,  so  pure  with  chivalric  sentiment; 
but  an  earlier  result  was  The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border , a collection  of  folk-songs  gleaned  in  vacation 
excursions  from  pipers  and  shepherds  and  old  peasant 
women  of  the  border  districts,  and  containing,  with  other 
ballads,  full  forty-three  previously  unknown  to  print, 
among  them  some  of  our  very  best.  Other  poet  col- 
lectors — Motherwell  and  Aytoun  — followed  where  Scott 
had  led,  Scott  having  been  himself  preceded  by  Allan 
Eamsay,  who  so  early  as  1724  had  included  several  old 
ballads,  freely  retouched,  in  his  Evergreen  and  Tea-Table 
Miscellany.  IS’or  were  there  lacking  others,  poets  in  ear 
and  heart  if  not  in  pen,  who  went  up  and  down  the 
country-side,  seeking  to  gather  into  books  the  old  heroic 
lays  that  were  already  on  the  point  of  perishing  from  the 
memories  of  the  people.  Meanwhile  Ritson’s  shrill  cry 
for  the  publication  of  the  original  Percy  manuscript  was 
taken  up  in  varying  keys  again  and  again,  until  in  our 
own  generation  the  echoes  on  our  own  side  of  the  water 
grew  so  persistent  that  with  no  small  difficulty  the  much- 
desired  end  was  actually  attained.  The  owners  of  the 
folio  having  been  brought  to  yield  their  slow  consent,  our 
richest  treasure  of  Old  English  song,  for  so  perilously 
long  a period  exposed  to  all  the  hazards  that  beset  a 


INTRODUCTION . 


XIX 


single  manuscript,  is  safe  in  print  at  last  and  open  to  the, 
inspection  of  us  all.  The  late  Professor  Child  of  Har- 
vard, our  first  American  authority  on  ballad-lore,  and 
Dr.  Furnivall  of  London,  would  each  yield  the  other  the 
honor  of  this  achievement  for  which  no  ballad-lover  can 
speak  too  many  thanks. 

A list  of  our  principal  ballad  collections  may  be 
found  of  practical  convenience,  as  well  as  of  literary 
interest.  Passing  by  the  Miscellanies , Percy,  as  becomes 
one  of  the  gallant  lineage  to  which  he  set  up  a somewhat 
doubtful  claim,  leads  the  van. 

Percy’s  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry.  1765. 

Herd’s  Ancient  and  Modern  Scottish  Songs,  Heroic  Ballads,  etc. 

1769. 

Ritson’s  Ancient  Popular  Poetry.  1791. 

Ritson’s  Ancient  Songs  and  Ballads.  1792. 

Ritson’s  Robin  Hood.  1795. 

Scott’s  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border.  1802-1803. 

Jamieson’s  Popular  Ballads  and  Songs.  1806. 

Finlay’s  Scottish  Historical  and  Romantic  Ballads.  1808. 

Sharpe’s  Ballad  Book.  1824. 

Maidment’s  North  Countrie  Garland.  1824. 

Kinloch’s  Ancient  Scottish  Ballads.  1827. 

Motherwell’s  Minstrelsy,  Ancient  and  Modern.  1827. 

Buchan’s  Ancient  Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  North  of  Scotland. 

1828. 

Chambers’  Scottish  Ballads.  1829. 

Whitelaw’s  Book  of  Scottish  Ballads.  1845. 

Child’s  English  and  Scottish  Ballads.  1857-1858. 

Aytoun’s  Ballads  of  Scotland.  1858. 

Maidment’s  Scottish  Ballads  and  Songs.  1868. 

Bishop  Percy’s  Folio  Manuscript.  1868. 

Child’s  English  and  Scottish  Popular  Ballads  (issued  in  parts). 

1882-98. 


A WORD  WITH  THE  TEACHER. 


The  methods  of  ballad-work  in  the  class-room  must  of 
course  vary  with  the  amount  of  time  at  disposal,  the  extent 
of  library  privilege,  and  the  attainment  of  the  students. 
Where  the  requisite  books  are  at  hand,  it  may  be  found  a 
profitable  exercise  to  commit  a ballad  to  each  member  of 
the  class,  who  shall  hunt  down  the  various  English 
versions,  and,  as  far  as  his  power  reaches,  the  foreign 
equivalents.  But  specific  topical  study  can  be  put  to 
advantage  on  the  ballads  themselves,  the  fifty  collected 
here  furnishing  abundant  data  for  discussion  and  illustra- 
tion in  regard  to  such  subjects  as  the  following : — 


Ballad  Language 


Ballad  Music 


Ballad  Structure 


{ 


Teutonic. 

Dialectic. 

Idiomatic. 

{Description. 
Peculiar  Fitness. 
Variations. 

{Metre. 

Accent. 

Rhyme. 

Significance  of  Ir- 
regularities. 

Introduction. 

Dramatic  Element. 

Involution  of  Plot. 

Proportion  of  Ornament. 

Conclusion. 


xx 


A WORD  WITH  THE  TEACHER . 


XXI 


Early  English  and  Scot- 
tish Life  as  reflected  « 
in  the  Ballads 


Government. 

Family. 

Employments. 

Pastimes. 

Manners. 


Early  English  and  Scot-  ( Aspirations, 
tish  Character  as  re--^  Principles, 
fleeted  in  the  Ballads  [ Tastes. 


Democracy  in  the  Ballads. 


Nature  in  the  Ballads. 


Color  in  the  Ballads. 

History  and  Science  in  the  Ballads. 
Manhood  in  the  Ballads. 
Womanhood  in  the  Ballads. 


Childhood  in  the  Ballads. 


Standards  of  Morality  in  the  Ballads. 


Religion  in  the  Bal- 
lads 

Figures  of  Speech  in 
the  Ballads 


Stock  Material  of  the 
Ballads 


Pagan  Element. 
Christian  Element 

Enumeration. 
General  Character. 
Proportion. 
r Epithets. 

Numbers. 

Refrains. 

^ Similes. 

Metaphors. 

Stanzas. 

Situations. 


f Catholic, 
t Protestant. 


Humor 

lads 

of 

the 

Bal- 

Pathos 

lads 

of 

the 

Bal- 

Beauty 

lads 

of 

the 

Bal- 

( In  what  consisting. 
\ At  what  directed, 
f By  what  elicited. 

\ How  expressed, 
f In  Form. 

In  Matter. 

( In  Spirit. 


A more  delicate,  difficult,  and  valuable  variety  of  study 
may  be  put  upon  the  ballads,  taken  one  by  one,  with  the 
aim  of  impressing  upon  a class  the  very  simplicity  of 


xxii  A WORD  WITH  THE  TEACHER. 

strength  and  sweetness  in  this  wild  minstrelsy.  The  mere 
recitation  or  reading  of  the  ballad,  with  such  unacademic 
and  living  comment  as  shall  help  the  imagination  of  the 
hearer  to  leap  into  a vivid  realization  of  the  swiftly 
shifted  scenes,  the  sympathy  to  follow  with  eagei^  com- 
prehension the  crowded,  changing  passions,  the  whole 
nature  to  thrill  with  the  warm  pulse  of  the  rough  old 
poem,  is  perhaps  the  surest  way  to  drive  the  ballad  home, 
trusting  it  to  work  within  the  student  toward  that  spirit- 
development  which  is  more  truly  the  end  of  education 
than  mental  storage.  For  these  primitive  folk-songs 
which  have  done  so  much  to  educate  the  poetic  sense  in 
the  fine  peasantry  of  Scotland,  — that  peasantry  which 
has  produced  an  Ettrick  Shepherd  and  an  Ayrshire 
Ploughman,  — are  assuredly, 

“ Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live,” 

among  the  best  educators  that  can  be  brought  into  our 
schoolrooms. 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


THE  WEE  WEE  MAN. 

As  I was  walking  all  alane, 

Between  a water  and  a wa’, 

There  I spy’d  a wee  wee  man, 

And  he  was  the  least  that  e’er  I saw. 

His  legs  were  scant  a shathmont’s  length, 
And  sma’  and  limber  was  his  thie, 

Between  his  e’en  there  was  a span, 

And  between  his  shoulders  there  was  three 

He  took  up  a meikle  stane, 

And  he  flang’t  as  far  as  I could  see ; 
Though  I had  been  a Wallace  wight, 

T couldna  liften’t  to  my  knee. 

u 0 wee  wee  man,  but  thou  be  strang ! 

0 tell  me  where  thy  dwelling  be  ? ” 

“ My  dwelling’s  down  at  yon  bonny  bower ; 

0 will  you  go  with  me  and  see  ? ” 

On  we  lap,  and  awa’  we  rade, 

Till  we  cam’  to  yon  bonny  green ; 

We  lighted  down  for  to  bait  our  horse, 

And  out  there  cam’  a lady  sheen. 


4 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


Four  and  twenty  at  her  back, 

And  they  were  a’  clad  out  in  green, 

Though  the  King  o’  Scotland  had  been  there, 
The  warst  o’  them  might  hae  been  his  Queen. 


On  we  lap,  and  awa’  we  rade, 

Till  we  cam’  to  yon  bonny  ha’, 

Where  the  roof  was  o’  the  beaten  gowd, 
And  the  floor  was  o’  the  crystal  a’. 

When  we  cam’  to  the  stair  foot, 

Ladies  were  dancing,  jimp  and  sma’ ; 
But  in  the  twinkling  of  an  e’e, 

My  wee  wee  man  was  clean  awa\ 


TAMLANE. 

“0  I forbid  ye,  maidens  a’, 

That  bind  in  snood  your  hair, 
To  come  or  gae  by  Carterhaugh, 
For  young  Tamlane  is  there ” 


Fair  Janet  sat  within  her  bower, 
Sewing  her  silken  seam, 

And  fain  would  be  at  Carterhaugh, 
Amang  the  leaves  sae  green. 


TAMLANE. 


5 


She  let  the  seam  fa’  to  her  foot, 

The  needle  to  her  tae, 

And  she’s  awa’  to  Carterhaugh, 

As  quickly  as  she  may. 

She’s  prink’d  hersell,  and  preen’d  hersell, 
By  the  ae  light  o’  the  moon, 

And  she’s  awa  to  Carterhaugh, 

As  fast  as  she  could  gang. 

She  hadna  pu’d  a red  red  rose, 

A rose  but  barely  three, 

When  up  and  starts  the  young  Tamlane, 
Says,  “ Lady,  let  a-be  ! 

“What  gars  ye  pu’  the  rose,  Janet? 

What  gars  ye  break  the  tree  ? 

Or  why  come  ye  to  Carterhaugh, 

Without  the  leave  o’  me  ? ” 

“01  will  pu’  the  flowers,”  she  said, 

“And  I will  break  the  tree ; 

And  I will  come  to  Carterhaugh, 

And  ask  na  leave  of  thee.” 

But  when  she  cam’  to  her  father’s  ha’, 

She  looked  sae  wan  and  pale, 

They  thought  the  lady  had  gotten  a fright, 
Or  with  sickness  sair  did  ail. 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


Janet  has  kilted  her  green  kirtle 
A little  aboon  her  knee, 

And  she  has  snooded  her  yellow  hair 
A little  aboon  her  bree, 

And  she’s  awa  to  Carterhaugh, 

As  fast  as  she  can  hie. 

She  hadna  pu’d  a rose,  a rose, 

A rose  but  barely  twae, 

When  up  there  started  young  Tamlane, 
Says,  66  Lady,  thou  pu’s  nae  mae.” 

u Now  ye  maun  tell  the  truth,”  she  said, 
A word  ye  maunna  lie  ; 

0,  were  ye  ever  in  haly  chapel, 

Or  sained  in  Christentie  ? ” 

u The  truth  I’ll  tell  to  thee,  Janet, 

A word  I winna  lie ; 

I was  ta’en  to  the  good  church-door, 

And  sained  as  well  as  thee. 

“ Randolph,  Earl  Murray,  was  my  sire, 
Dunbar,  Earl  March,  was  thine ; 

We  loved  when  we  were  children  small, 
Which  yet  you  well  may  mind. 

**  When  I was  a boy  just  turned  of  nine, 
My  uncle  sent  for  me, 

To  hunt,  and  hawk,  and  ride  with  him, 
And  keep  him  companie. 


TAMLANE. 


7 


“ There  came  a wind  out  of  the  north, 
A sharp  wind  and  a snell, 

And  a dead  sleep  came  over  me, 

And  frae  my  horse  I fell ; 

The  Queen  of  Fairies  she  was  there, 
And  took  me  to  hersell. 

“ And  we,  that  live  in  Fairy-land, 

Nae  sickness  know  nor  pain ; 

I quit  my  body  when  I will, 

And  take  to  it  again. 

“ I quit  my  body  when  I please, 

Or  unto  it  repair ; 

We  can  inhabit  at  our  ease 
In  either  earth  or  air. 

“ Our  shapes  and  size  we  can  convert 
To  either  large  or  small ; 

An  old  nut-shelks  the  same  to  us 
As  is  the  lofty  hall. 

“ We  sleep  in  rose-buds  soft  and  sweet, 
We  revel  in  the  stream ; 

We  wanton  lightly  on  the  wind, 

Or  glide  on  a sunbeam. 

" And  never  would  I tire,  Janet, 

In  fairy-land  to  dwell ; 

But  aye,  at  every  seven  years, 

They  pay  the  teind  to  hell ; 

And  Fm  sae  fat  and  fair  of  flesh, 

I fear  Twill  be  mysell ! 


8 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


“ The  morn  at  e’en  is  Hallowe’en ; 

Our  fairy  court  will  ride, 

Through  England  and  through  Scotland  baith, 
And  through  the  warld  sae  wide, 

And  if  that  ye  wad  borrow  me, 

At  Miles  Cross  ye  maun  bide. 

“ And  ye  maun  gae  to  the  Miles  Cross, 

Between  twelve  hours  and  one, 

Tak’  haly  water  in  your  hand, 

And  cast  a compass  roun’.” 

“ But  how  shall  I thee  ken,  Tamlane, 

And  how  shall  I thee  knaw, 

Amang  the  throng  o’  fairy  folk, 

The  like  I never  saw  ? ” 

“ The  first  court  that  comes  alang, 

Ye’ll  let  them  a’  pass  by ; 

The  neist  court  that  comes  alang 
Salute  them  reverently. 

“ The  third  court  that  comes  alang 
Is  clad  in  robes  o’  green, 

And  it’s  the  head  court  of  them  a’, 

And  in  it  rides  the  Queen. 

“ And  I upon  a milk-white  steed, 

Wi’  a gold  star  in  my  croun ; 

Because  I am  a christen’d  knight 
They  give  me  that  renoun. 


TAMLANE. 


9 


“ First  let  pass  the  black,  Janet, 

And  syne  let  pass  the  broun, 

But  grip  ye  to  the  milk-white  steed, 
And  pu’  the  rider  doun. 

“My  right  hand  will  be  glov’d,  Janet, 
My  left  hand  will  be  bare, 

And  thae’s  the  tokens  I gie  thee ; 

Nae  doubt  I will  be  there. 

“ Ye’ll  seize  upon  me  with  a spring, 

And  to  the  ground  I’ll  fa’, 

And  then  you’ll  hear  an  elrish  cry 
That  Tamlane  is  awa’. 

“ They’ll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 
An  adder  and  a snake ; 

Bat  haud  me  fast,  let  me  not  pass, 

Gin  ye  would  be  my  maik. 

“ They’ll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  J anet, 
An  adder  and  an  aske ; 

They’ll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

A bale  that  burns  fast. 

“ They’ll  shape  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 
A dove,  but  and  a swan : 

And  last  they’ll  shape  me  in  your  arms 
A mother-naked  man : 

Cast  your  green  mantle  over  me  — 

And  sae  shall  I be  wan ! ” 


10 


BALLADS  OF  SUPFBSTITION. 


Gloomy,  gloomy  was  the  night, 

And  eerie  was  the  way, 

As  fair  J anet,  in  her  green  mantle, 

To  Miles  Cross  she  did  gae. 

About  the  dead  hour  o’  the  night 
She  heard  the  bridles  ring, 

And  Janet  was  as  glad  o’  that 
As  ony  earthly  thing. 

There’s  haly  water  in  her  hand, 

She  casts  a compass  round ; 

And  straight  she  sees  a fairy  band 
Come  riding  o’er  the  mound. 

And  first  gaed  by  the  black,  black  steed, 
And  then  gaed  by  the  broun ; 

But  fast  she  gript  the  milk-white  steed, 
And  pu’d  the  rider  doun. 

She  pu’d  him  frae  the  milk-white  steed, 
And  loot  the  bridle  fa’ ; 

And  up  there  raise  an  elrish  cry ; 

“ He’s  won  amang  us  a’ ! ” 


They  shaped  him  in  fair  Janet’s  arms 
An  aske,  but  and  an  adder ; 

She  held  him  fast  in  every  shape, 

To  be  her  ain  true  lover. 


TAMLANE. 


11 


They  shaped  him  in  her  arms  at  last 
A mother-naked  man, 

She  cuist  her  mantle  over  him, 

And  sae  her  true  love  wan. 

Up  then  spake  the  Queen  o’  Fairies, 

Out  of  a bush  o’  broom  : 

“ She  that  has  borrowed  young  Tamlane, 
Has  gotten  a stately  groom  ! ” 

Up  then  spake  the  Queen  o’  Fairies, 

Out  of  a bush  of  rye  : 

“ She’s  ta’en  away  the  bonniest  knight 
In  a’  my  companie  ! 

“ But  had  I kenned,  Tamlane,”  she  says, 

“ A lady  wad  borrow  thee, 

I wad  hae  ta’en  out  thy  twa  gray  e’en, 
Put  in  twa  e’en  o’  tree  ! 

“ Had  I but  kenned,  Tamlane,”  she  says, 

“ Before  ye  came  frae  hame, 

I wad  hae  ta’en  out  your  heart  of  flesh, 
Put  in  a heart  o’  stane  ! 

“ Had  I but  had  the  wit  yestreen 
That  I hae  coft  this  day, 

I’d  hae  paid  my  teind  seven  times  to  hell, 
Ere  you’d  been  won  away  ! ” 


12 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


TRUE  THOMAS. 

True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank ; 

A ferlie  he  spied  with  his  e’e ; 

And  there  he  saw  a ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  tree. 

Her  skirt  was  o’  the  grass-green  silk, 
Her  mantle  o’  the  velvet  fine, 

At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse’s  mane, 

Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 


True  Thomas  he  pu’d  aff  his  cap, 

And  louted  low  down  to  his  knee  ; 

“ All  hail,  thou  mighty  Queen  of  Heaven  ! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I never  did  see.” 


“ 0 no,  0 no,  Thomas,”  she  said, 

“ That  name  does  not  belang  to  me  ; 
I’m  but  the  Queen  of  fair  Elfland, 
That  hither  am  come  to  visit  thee  ! 


“ Harp  and  carp,  Thomas,”  she  said, 
“ Harp  and  carp  alang  wi’  me  ; 
And  if  ye  daur  to  kiss  my  lips, 
Sure  of  your  bodie  I shall  be  ! ” 


TRUE  THOMAS. 


13 


“Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe, 

That  weird  shall  never  daunton  me  ! ” 

Syne  he  has  kissed  her  rosy  lips, 

All  underneath  the  Eildon  tree. 

“Now  ye  maun  go  wi’  me,”  she  said, 

“ True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi’  me  ; 

And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years, 

Through  weal  or  woe  as  may  chance  to  be.” 

She’s  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed, 

She’s  ta’en  True  Thomas  up  behind ; 

And  aye,  whene’er  her  bridle  rang, 

The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind. 

0 they  rade  on,  and  further  on, 

The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind  ; 

Until  they  reached  a desert  wide, 

And  living  land  was  left  behind. 

“ Light  down,  light  down  now,  Thomas,”  she  said, 
“ And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee  ; 

Light  down,  and  rest  a little  space, 

And  I will  show  you  ferlies  three. 

“ 0 see  ye  na  that  braid  braid  road, 

That  stretches  o’er  the  lily  leven  ? 

That  is  the  path  of  wickedness, 

Though  some  call  it  the  road  to  heaven. 


14 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


“ And  see  ye  na  yon  narrow  road, 

Sae  thick  beset  wi’  thorns  and  briers  ? 

That  is  the  path  of  righteousness, 

Though  after  it  but  few  enquires. 

“ And  see  ye  na  yon  bonny  road, 

That  winds  about  the  ferny  brae  ? 

That  is  the  way  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  you  and  I this  night  maun  gae. 

“ But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hauld  your  tongue, 
Whatever  you  may  hear  or  see  ; 

For  if  ye  speak  word  in  Elfin  land, 

Ye’ll  ne’er  win  back  to  your  ain  countrie  ! ” 

0 they  rade  on,  and  further  on, 

And  they  waded  through  rivers  aboon  the  knee, 

And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon, 

But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  a sea. 

It  was  mirk  mirk  night,  there  was  nae  stern-light, 
And  they  waded  through  red  blude  to  the  knee ; 

For  a’  the  blude  that’s  shed  on  earth, 

Bins  through  the  springs  o’  that  countrie. 

Syne  they  came  to  a garden  green, 

And  she  pu’ d an  apple  f rae  a tree  — 

“ Take  this  for  thy  wages,  True  Thomas  ; 

It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never  lie  ! ” 


THE  ELFIN  KNIGHT. 


15 


“ My  tongue  is  my  ain  ! ” True  Thomas  he  said, 
“ A gudely  gift  ye  wad  gie  to  me  ! 

I neither  dough t to  buy  nor  sell, 

At  fair  or  tryste  where  I may  be. 

“ I dought  neither  speak  to  prince  nor  peer, 

Not  ask  for  grace  from  fair  ladye  ! ” 

“Now  hauld  thy  tongue,  Thomas  !”  she  said 
“ For  as  I say,  so  must  it  be.” 

He  has  gotten  a coat  of  the  even  claith, 

And  a pair  o?  shoon  of  the  velvet  green ; 

And  till  seven  years  were  come  and  gane, 

True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen. 


THE  ELFIN  KNIGHT. 

The  Elfin  knight  stands  on  yon  hill ; 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

Blawing  his  horn  baith  loud  and  shrill, 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa\) 


“ If  I had  the  horn  that  I hear  blawn, 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  the  bonnie  knight  that  blaws  the  horn  ! ” 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa?.) 


16 


BALLADS  OF  SUPEBSTIT10N. 


She  had  na  sooner  thae  words  said ; 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

Than  the  Elfin  knight  cam’  to  her  side  : 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“Thou  art  too  young  a maid,”  quoth  he, 
(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

“ Married  wi’  me  you  ill  wad  be.” 

(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“ I hae  a sister  younger  than  me  ; 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  she  was  married  yesterday.” 

(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“ Married  to  me  ye  shall  be  nane  ; 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

Till  ye  mak’  me  a sark  without  a seam ; 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“And  ye  maun  shape  it,  knifeless,  sheerless, 
(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  ye  maun  sew  it,  needle-threedless  ; 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“ And  ye  maun  wash  it  within  a well, 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

Whaur  dew  never  wat,  nor  rain  ever  fell, 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 


THE  ELFIN  KNIGHT. 


17 


“And  ye  maun  dry  it  upon  a thorn, 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

That  never  budded  sin’  Adam  was  born.” 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  aw  a’.) 

“ 0 gin  that  kindness  I do  for  thee  ; 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

There’s  something  ye  maun  do  for  me. 

(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“ I hae  an  acre  o’  gude  lea-land, 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

Between  the  saut  sea  and  the  strand  ; 

(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“Ye’ll  plough  it  wi’  your  blawing  horn, 
(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  ye  will  sow  it  wi’  pepper  corn, 

(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“ And  ye  maun  harrow’t  wi’  a single  tyne, 
(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  shear  it  wi’  a sheep’s  shank  bane  ; 

(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“ And  bigg  a cart  o’  lime  and  stane, 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  Robin  Redbreast  maun  trail  it  hame, 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 


18 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


“And  ye  maun  barn  it  in  a mouse-hole, 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  ye  mann  thresh  it  in  your  shoe  sole  ; 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“And  ye  mann  winnow  it  wi’  your  loof, 

(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  ye  mann  sack  it  in  your  glove  ; 

(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“ And  ye  maun  dry  it,  but  candle  or  coal, 
(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

And  ye  maun  grind  it,  but  quern  or  mill ; 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 

“ When  ye  hae  done,  and  finish* d your  wark, 
(Blaw,  blaw,  blaw  winds,  blaw,) 

Then  come  to  me,  and  ye’se  get  your  sark  ! ” 
(And  the  wind  has  blawn  my  plaid  awa’.) 


LADY  ISOBEL  ASTD  THE  ELE-KXIGHT. 

There  cam’  a bird  out  o’  a bush, 

On  water  for  to  dine, 

An’  sighing  sair,  says  the  king’s  daughter, 
“ 0 wae’s  this  heart  o’  mine  ! ” 


He’s  taen  a harp  into  his  hand, 
He’s  harped  them  all  asleep, 
Except  it  was  the  king’s  daughter, 
Who  ae  wink  couldna  get. 


LADY  ISOBEL  AND  THE  ELF-KNIGHT . 19 


He’s  luppen  on  his  berry-brown  steed, 
Taen  ’er  on  behind  himsell, 

Then  baith  rede  down  to  that  water 
That  they  ca’  Wearie’s  Well. 

“ Wide  in,  wide  in,  my  lady  fair, 

Hae  harm  shall  thee  befall ; 

Aft  times  hae  I water’d  my  steed 
Wi’  the  water  o’  Wearie’s  Well.” 

The  first  step  that  she  stepped  in, 

She  stepped  to  the  knee  ; 

And  sighing  sair,  says  this  lady  fair, 

“ This  water’s  nae  for  me.” 

“ Wide  in,  wide  in,  my  lady  fair, 

Hae  harm  shall  thee  befall ; 

Aft  times  hae  I water’d  my  steed 
Wi’  the  water  o’  Wearie’s  Well.” 

The  neist  step  that  she  stepped  in, 
She  stepped  to  the  middle  ; 

“ 0,”  sighend  says  this  lady  fair, 

“ I’ve  wat  my  gowden  girdle.” 

“ Wide  in,  wide  in,  my  lady  fair, 

Hae  harm  shall  thee  befall ; 

Aft  times  hae  I water’d  my  steed 
Wi’  the  water  o’  Wearie’s  Well.” 


20 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


The  neist  step  that  she  stepped  in, 

She  stepped  to  the  chin  ; 

“ 0,”  sighend  says  this  lady  fair, 

“ Fll  wade  nae  farer  in.” 

“ Seven  king’s-daughters  I’ve  drownd  here, 

In  the  water  o’  Wearie’s  Well, 

And  I711  mak’  you  the  eight  o’  them, 

And  ring  the  common  bell.” 

“ Sin’  I am  standing  here,”  she  says, 

“ This  dowie  death  to  die, 

Ae  kiss  o’  your  comely  mouth 
I’m  sure  wad  comfort  me.” 

He’s  louted  him  o’er  his  saddle  bow, 

To  kiss  her  cheek  and  chin ; 

She’s  taen  him  in  her  arms  twa, 

An’  thrown  him  headlong  in. 

“ Sin’  seven  king’s-daughters  ye’ve  drownd  here, 
In  the  water  o’  Wearie’s  Well, 

I’ll  mak’  you  bridegroom  to  them  a’, 

An’  ring  the  bell  myselL” 


TOM  THXJMBE. 


TOM  THUMBE. 

In  Arthurs  court  Tom  Thumbe  did  live, 
A man  of  mickle  might, 

The  best  of  all  the  table  round, 

And  eke  a doughty  knight  : 


His  stature  but  an  inch  in  height, 

Or  quarter  of  a span ; 

Then  think  e you  not  this  little  knight, 
Was  proved  a valiant  man  ? 

His  father  was  a plow-man  plaine, 

His  mother  milkt  the  cow, 

But  yet  the  way  to  get  a sonne 
This  couple  knew  not  how, 

Untill  such  time  this  good  old  man 
To  learned  Merlin  goes, 

And  there  to  him  his  deepe  desires 
In  secret  manner  showes, 

How  in  his  heart  he  wisht  to  have 
A childe,  in  time  to  come, 

To  be  his  heire,  though  it  might  be 
No  bigger  than  his  Thumb®. 


22 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


Of  which  old  Merlin  thus  foretold, 

That  he  his  wish  should  have, 

And  so  this  sonne  of  stature  small 
The  charmer  to  him  gave. 

No  blood  nor  bones  in  him  should  be, 

In  shape  and  being  such, 

That  men  should  heare  him  speake,  but  not 
His  wandring  shadow  touch : 

But  all  unseene  to  goe  or  come 
Whereas  it  pleasd  him  still ; 

And  thus  King  Arthurs  Dwarfe  was  born, 
To  fit  his  fathers  will : 

And  in  foure  minutes  grew  so  fast, 

That  he  became  so  tall 

As  was  the  plowmans  thumbe  in  height, 
And  so  they  did  him  call 

Tom  Thumbe,  the  which  the  Fayry-Queene 
There  gave  him  to  his  name, 

Who,  with  her  traine  of  Goblins  grim, 

Unto  his  christning  came. 

Whereas  she  cloath’d  him  richly  brave, 

In  garments  fine  and  faire, 

Which  lasted  him  for  many  yeares 
In  seemely  sort  to  weare. 


TOM  THUMBE. 


23 


His  hat  made  of  an  oaken  leafe, 

His  shirt  a spiders  web, 

Both  light  and  soft  for  those  his  limbes 
That  were  so  smally  bred ; 

His  hose  and  doublet  thistle  downe, 
Togeather  weav’d  full  fine ; 

His  stockins  of  an  apple  greene, 

Made  of  the  outward  rine ; 

His  garters  were  two  little  haires, 

Pull’d  from  his  mothers  eye, 

His  bootes  and  shooes  a mouses  skin, 
There  tand  most  curiously. 

Thus,  like  a lustie  gallant,  he 
Adventured  forth  to  goe, 

With  other  children  in  the  streets 
His  pretty  trickes  to  show. 

Where  he  for  counters,  pinns,  and  points, 
And  cherry  stones  did  play, 

Till  he  amongst  those  gamesters  young 
Had  loste  his  stocke  away, 

Yet  could  he  soone  renew  the  same, 

When  as  most  nimbly  he 

Would  dive  into  their  cherry-baggs, 

And  there  partaker  be, 


24 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


Unseene  or  felt  by  any  one, 

Untill  a scholler  shut 

This  nimble  youth  into  a boxe, 

Wherein  his  pins  he  put. 

Of  whom  to  be  reveng’d,  he  tooke 
(In  mirth  and  pleasant  game) 

Black  pots,  and  glasses,  which  he  hung 
Upon  a bright  sunne-beam. 

The  other  boyes  to  doe  the  like, 

In  pieces  broke  them  quite ; 

For  which  they  were  most  soundly  whipt, 
Whereat  he  laught  outright. 

And  so  Tom  Thumbe  restrained  was 
From  these  his  sports  and  play, 

And  by  his  mother  after  that 
Compel’d  at  home  to  stay. 

Whereas  about  a Christmas  time, 

His  father  a hog  had  kil’d, 

And  Tom  would  see  the  puddings  made, 
For  fear  they  should  be  spil’d. 

He  sate  upon  the  pudding-boule, 

The  candle  for  to  hold ; 

Of  which  there  is  unto  this  day 
A pretty  pastime  told : 


TOM  THUMBE. 


25 


For  Tom  fell  in,  and  could  not  be 
For  ever  after  found, 

For  in  the  blood  and  batter  he 
Was  strangely  lost  and  drownd. 

Where  searching  long,  but  all  in  vaine, 
His  mother  after  that 
Into  a pudding  thrust  her  sonne, 
Instead  of  minced  fat. 

Which  pudding  of  the  largest  size* 

Into  the  kettle  throwne, 

Made  all  the  rest  to  fly  thereout, 

As  with  a whirle-wind  blowne. 

For  so  it  tumbled  up  and  downe, 
Within  the  liquor  there, 

As  if  the  devill  had  been  boiled ; 

Such  was  his  mothers  feare, 

That  up  she  took  the  pudding  strait. 

And  gave  it  at  the  door 
Unto  a tinker,  which  from  thence 
In  his  blacke  budget  bore. 

From  which  Tom  Thumbe  got  loose  at 
And  home  return’d  againe  : 

Where  he  from  following  dangers  long 
In  safety  did  remaine. 


26 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


Now  after  this,  in  sowing  time, 

His  father  would  him  have 
Into  the  field  to  drive  his  plow, 

And  thereupon  him  gave 

A whip  made  of  a barly  straw 
To  drive  the  cattle  on : 

Where,  in  a furrow’d  land  new  sowne, 
Poore  Tom  was  lost  and  gon. 

Now  by  a raven  of  great  strength 
Away  he  thence  was  borne, 

And  carried  in  the  carrions  beake 
Even  like  a graine  of  corne, 

Unto  a giants  castle  top, 

In  which  he  let  him  fall, 

Where  soone  the  giant  swallowed  up 
His  body,  cloathes  and  all. 

But  in  his  stomach  did  Tom  Thumbe 
So  great  a rumbling  make, 

That  neither  day  nor  night  he  could 
The  smallest  quiet  take, 

Untill  the  giant  had  him  spewd 
Three  miles  into  the  sea, 

Whereas  a fish  soone  tooke  him  up 
And  bore  him  thence  away. 


TOM  THXJMBE. 


27 


Which  lusty  fish  was  after  caught 
And  to  king  Arthur  sent, 

Where  Tom  was  found,  and  made  his  dwarfe, 
Whereas  his  dayes  he  spent 

Long  time  in  lively  jollity, 

Belov’d  of  all  the  court, 

And  none  like  Tom  was  then  esteem’d 
Among  the  noble  sort. 

Amongst  his  deedes  of  courtship  done, 

His  highnesse  did  command, 

That  he  should  dance  a galliard  brave 
Upon  his  queenes  left  hand. 

The  which  he  did,  and  for  the  same 
The  king  his  signet  gave, 

Which  Tom  about  his  middle  wore 
Long  time  a girdle  brave. 

How  after  this  the  king  would  not 
Abroad  for  pleasure  goe, 

But  still  Tom  Thumbe  must  ride  with  him, 
Plac’d  on  his  saddle-bow. 

Where  on  a time  when  as  it  rain’d, 

Tom  Thumbe  most  nimbly  crept 
In  at  a button  hole,  where  he 
Within  his  bosome  slept. 


28 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


And  being  neere  bis  bigbnesse  heart, 
He  crav’d  a wealthy  boone, 

A liberall  gift,  the  which  the  king 
Commanded  to  be  done, 

For  to  relieve  his  fathers  wants, 

And  mothers,  being  old ; 

Which  was  so  much  of  silver  coin 
As  well  his  armes  could  hold. 

And  so  away  goes  lusty  Tcftn, 

With  three  pence  on  his  backe, 

A heavy  burthen,  which  might  make 
His  wearied  limbes  to  cracke. 

So  travelling  two  dayes  and  nights, 
With  labour  and  great  paine, 

He  came  into  the  house  whereas 
His  parents  did  remaine  ; 

Which  was  but  halfe  a mile  in  space 
From  good  king  Arthurs  court, 

The  which  in  eight  and  forty  houres 
He  went  in  weary  sort. 

But  comming  to  his  fathers  doore, 

He  there  such  entrance  had 

As  made  his  parents  both  rejoice, 
And  he  thereat  was  glad. 


TOM  THUMBE. 


29 


His  mother  in  her  apron  tooke 
Her  gentle  sonne  in  haste, 

And  by  the  fier  side,  within 
A walnut  shell,  him  plac’d : 

Whereas  they  feasted  him  three  dayes 
Upon  a hazell  nut, 

Whereon  he  rioted  so  long 
He  them  to  charges  put ; 

And  thereupon  grew  wonderous  sicke, 
Through  eating  too  much  meate, 
Which  was  sufficient  for  a month 
For  this  great  man  to  eate. 

But  now  his  businesse  call’d  him  foorth, 
King  Arthurs  court  to  see, 

Whereas  no  longer  from  the  same 
He  could  a stranger  be. 

But  yet  a few  small  April  drops, 

Which  settled  in  the  way, 

His  long  and  weary  journey  forth 
Did  hinder  and  so  stay. 

Until  his  carefull  father  tooke 
A hollow  straw  in  sport, 

And  with  one  blast  blew  this  his  sonne 
Into  king  Arthurs  court. 


30 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


Now  lie  with  tilts  and  turnaments 
Was  entertained  so, 

That  all  the  best  of  Arthurs  knights 
Did  him  much  pleasure  show. 

As  good  Sir  Lancelot  of  the  Lake, 

Sir  Tristram,  and  sir  Guy ; 

Yet  none  compar’d  with  brave  Tom  Thum, 
In  knightly  chivalry. 

In  honor  of  which  noble  day,* 

And  for  his  ladies  sake, 

A challenge  in  king  Arthurs  court 
Tom  Thumbe  did  bravely  make. 

Gainst  whom  these  noble  knights  did  run, 
Sir  Chinon  and  the  rest, 

Yet  still  Tom  Thumbe  with  matchles  might 
Did  beare  away  the  best. 

He  likewise  cleft  the  smallest  haire 
From  his  faire  ladies  head, 

Not  hurting  her  whose  even  hand 
Him  lasting  honors  bred. 

Such  were  his  deeds  and  noble  acts 
In  Arthurs  court  there  showne, 

As  like  in  all  the  world  beside 
Was  hardly  seene  or  knowne. 


TOM  THXJ MB E. 


31 


( 

Now  at  these  sports  he  toyld  himselfe 
That  he  a sicknesse  tooke, 

Through  which  all  manly  exercise 
He  carelesly  forsooke. 

Where  lying  on  his  bed  sore  sicke, 

King  Arthurs  doctor  came, 

With  cunning  skill,  by  phy sicks  art, 

To  ease  and  cure  the  same. 

His  body  being  so  slender  small, 

This  cunning  doctor  tooke 
A fine  prospective  glasse,  with  which 
He  did  in  secret  looke 

Into  his  sickened  body  downe, 

And  therein  saw  that  Death 
Stood  ready  in  his  wasted  guts 
To  sease  his  vitall  breath. 

His  armes  and  leggs  consum’d  as  small 
As  was  a spiders  web, 

Through  which  his  dying  houre  grew  on, 
For  all  his  limbes  grew  dead. 

His  face  no  bigger  than  an  ants, 

Which  hardly  could  be  seene : 

The  losse  of  which  renowned  knight 
Much  griev’d  the  king  and  queene. 


32 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


And  so  with  peace  and  quietnesse 
He  left  this  earth  below ; 

And  up  into  the  Fayry  Land 
His  ghost  did  fading  goe. 

Whereas  the  Fayry  Queene  receiv’d 
With  heavy  mourning  cheere, 

The  body  of  this  valiant  knight 
Whom  she  esteem’d  so  deere. 

For  with  her  dancing  nymphes  in  greene, 
She  fetcht  him  from  his  bed, 

With  musicke  and  sweet  melody 
So  soone  as  life  was  fled : 

For  whom  king  Arthur  and  his  knights 
Full  forty  daies  did  mourne ; 

And,  in  remembrance  of  his  name 
That  was  so  strangely  borne, 

i 

He  built  a tomb  of  marble  gray, 

And  yeare  by  yeare  did  come 

To  celebrate  the  mournefull  day, 

And  buriall  of  Tom  Thum. 

Whose  fame  still  lives  in  England  here, 
Amongst  the  countrey  sort ; 

Of  whom  our  wives  and  children  small 
Tell  tales  of  pleasant  sport. 


KEMPION. 


33 


KEMPION. 

Her  mither  died  when  she  was  young, 

Which  gave  her  cause  to  make  great  moan ; 

Her  father  married  the  warse  woman 
That  ever  lived  in  Christendom. 

She  served  her  well  wi’  foot  and  hand, 

In  everything  that  she  could  dee  ; 

But  her  stepmither  hated  her  warse  and  warse, 
And  a powerful  wicked  witch  was  she. 

“ Come  hither,  come  hither,  ye  cannot  choose  ; 
And  lay  your  head  low  on  my  knee ; 

The  heaviest  weird  I will  you  read 
That  ever  was  read  to  gay  ladye. 

“ Mickle  dolour  sail  ye  dree 

When  o’er  the  saut  seas  maun  ye  swim  ; 

And  far  mair  dolour  sail  ye  dree 

When  up  to  Estmere  Crags  ye  climb. 

“ I weird  ye  be  a fiery  snake  ; 

And  borrowed  sail  ye  never  be, 

Till  Kempion,  the  kingis  son, 

Come  to  the  crag  and  thrice  kiss  thee. 

Until  the  warld  comes  to  an  end, 

Borrowed  sail  ye  never  be  ! ” 


34 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


0 mickle  dolour  did  she  dree, 

And  aye  the  saut  seas  o’er  she  swam,; 

And  far  mair  dolour  did  she  dree 

On  Estmere  Crags,  when  up  she  clamb. 

And  aye  she  cried  on  Kempion, 

Gin  he  would  but  come  to  her  han’ : — 

Now  word  has  gane  to  Kempion, 

That  siccan  a beast  was  in  the  Ian’. 

“Now  by  my  sooth,”  said  Kempion, 

“ This  fiery  beast  I’ll  gang  and  see.” 

“ An’  by  my  sooth,”  said  Segramour, 

“My  ae  brither,  I’ll  gang  wi’  thee.” 

They  twa  hae  biggit  a bonny  boat, 

And  they  hae  set  her  to  the  sea ; 

But  a mile  afore  they  reach’d  the  shore, 

Around  them  ’gan  the  red  fire  flee. 

The  worm  leapt  out,  the  worm  leapt  down, 

She  plaited  nine  times  round  stock  and  stane ; 

And  aye  as  the  boat  cam’  to  the  beach, 

0 she  hae  strickit  it  aff  again. 

“ Min’  how  you  steer,  my  brither  dear  : 

Keep  further  aff: ! ” said  Segramour  ; 

“ She’ll  drown  us  deep  in  the  saut,  saut  sea, 

Or  burn  us  sair,  if  we  come  on  shore.” 


KEMPION. 


35 


Syne  Kempion  has  bent  an  arblast  bow, 
And  aimed  an  arrow  at  her  head ; 

And  swore,  if  she  didna  quit  the  shore, 
Wi’  that  same  shaft  to  shoot  her  dead. 

u Out  o’  my  stythe  I winna  rise, 

Nor  quit  my  den  for  the  fear  o’  thee, 
Till  Kempion,  the  kingis  son, 

Come  to  the  crag  an’  thrice  kiss  me.” 

He’s  louted  him  o’er  the  Estmere  Crag, 
And  he  has  gi’en  that  beast  a kiss  : 

In  she  swang,  and  again  she  cam’, 

And  aye  her  speech  was  a wicked  hiss. 

“ Out  o’  my  stythe  I winna  rise, 

An’  not  for  a’  thy  bow  nor  thee, 

Till  Kempion,  the  kingis  son, 

Come  to  the  crag  an’  thrice  kiss  me.” 

He’s  louted  him  o’er  the  Estmere  Crag, 
And  he  has  gi’en  her  kisses  twa ; 

In  she  swang,  and  again  she  cam’, 

The  fieriest  beast  that  ever  you  saw. 

“ Out  o’  my  stythe  I winna  rise, 

Nor  quit  my  den  for  the  fear  o’  thee, 
Till  Kempion,  the  kingis  son, 

Come  to  the  crag  an’  thrice  kiss  me.” 


36 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


He’s  louted  him  o’er  the  lofty  crag, 

And  he  has  gi’en  her  kisses  three ; 

In  she  swang,  a loathly  worm  ; 

An’  out  she  stepped,  a fair  ladye. 

Nae  deeding  had  this  lady  fair, 

To  keep  her  body  frae  the  cold ; 

But  Kempion  took  his  mantle  aff, 

And  around  his  ain  true  love  did  fold. 

“ An’  by  my  sooth,”  says  Kempion, 

“ My  ain  true  love  ! — for  this  is  she,  — 

They  surely  had  a heart  o’  stane, 

Could  put  thee  to  this  misery. 

“ 0 was  it  wer-wolf  in  the  wood, 

Or  was  it  mermaid  in  the  sea, 

Or  wicked  man,  or  wile  woman, 

My  ain  true  love,  that  mis-shaped  thee  ? ” 

u It  was  na  wer-wolf  in  the  wood, 

Nor  was  it  mermaid  in  the  sea ; 

But  it  was  my  wicked  stepmither, 

And  wae  and  weary  may  she  be  ! ” 

O a heavier  weird  light  her  upon 
Than  ever  fell  on  wile  woman  ! 

Her  hair  sail  grow  rough,  an’  her  teeth  grow  lang. 
An’  aye  upon  four  feet  maun  she  gang.” 


ALISON  GROSS . 


"87 


ALISON  GROSS. 

0 Alison  Gross,  that  lives  in  yon  tower, 

The  ugliest  witch  in  the  north  countrie, 

Has  trysted  me  ae  day  up  till  her  bower, 

And  mony  fair  speech  she  made  to  me. 

She  straiked  my  head,  and  she  kaim’d  my  hair, 
And  she  set  me  down  saftly  on  her  knee  ; 
Says,  “ Gin  ye  will  be  my  lemman  sae  true, 

Sae  mony  braw  things  as  I wad  you  gie.” 

She  shaw’d  me  a mantle  o’  red  scarlet, 

Wi’  gowden  flowers  and  fringes  fine  ; 

Says,  “ Gin  ye  will  be  my  lemman  sae  true, 
This  gudely  gift  it  sail  be  thine.” 

“ Awa’,  awa’,  ye  ugly  witch  ! 

Haud  far  awa’,  and  lat  me  be  ; 

1 never  will  be  your  lemman  sae  true, 

And  I wish  I were  out  o’  your  companie.” 

She  neist  brocht  a sark  o’  the  saftest  silk, 

Weel  wrought  wi’  pearls  about  the  band; 
Says,  “ Gin  ye  will  be  my  ain  true-love, 

This  gudely  gift  ye  sail  command,” 


38 


BALLADS  OF  SUPEBSTITION . 


She  shaw’d  me  a cup  o’  the  gude  red  gowd, 

Weel  set  wi’  jewels  sae  fair  to  see ; 

Says,  “ Gin  ye  will  be  my  lemman  sae  true, 

This  gudely  gift  I will  you  gie.” 

“ Awa’,  awa’,  ye  ugly  witch  ! 

Haud  far  awa’,  and  lat  me  be  ; 

For  I wadna  ance  kiss  your  ugly  mouth 
For  a’  the  gifts  that  you  could  gie.” 

She’s  turn'd  her  richt  and  round  about, 

And  thrice  she  blew  on  a grass-green  horn ; 

And  she  sware  by  the  moon,  and  the  stars  aboon, 
That  she’d  gar  me  rue  the  day  I was  born. 

Then  out  she  has  ta’en  a silver  wand, 

And  she’s  turn’d  her  three  times  round  and  round ; 

She’s  muttered  sic  words,  that  my  strength  it  fail’d, 
And  I fell  down  senseless  on  the  ground. 

She’s  turned  me  into  an  ugly  worm, 

And  gar’d  me  toddle  about  the  tree ; 

And  ay,  on  ilka  Saturday’s  night, 

Auld  Alison  Gross,  she  cam’  to  me, 

Wi’  silver  basin,  and  silver  kaim, 

To  kaim  my  headie  upon  her  knee  ; 

But  or  I had  kiss’d  her  ugly  mouth, 

I’d  rather  hae  toddled  about  the  tree. 


THE  WIFE  OF  USHER’S  WELL . 


39 


But  as  it  fell  out  on  last  Hallowe’en, 

When  the  Seely  Court  was  ridin’  by, 

The  Queen  lighted  down  on  a gowan  bank, 

Hae  far  frae  the  tree  where  I wont  to  lye. 

She  took  me  up  in  her  milk-white  hand, 

And  she  straiked  me  three  times  o’er  her  knee ; 
She  changed  me  again  to  my  ain  proper  shape, 
And  I nae  mair  maun  toddle  about  the  tree. 


THE  WIFE  OF  USHEB’S  WELL. 

There  lived  a wife  at  Usher’s  Well, 
And  a wealthy  wife  was  she  ; 

She  had  three  stout  and  stalwart  sons, 
And  sent  them  o’er  the  sea. 

They  hadna  been  a week  from  her, 

A week  but  barely  ane, 

When  word  cam’  to  the  carline  wife, 
That  her  three  sons  were  gane. 

They  hadna  been  a week  from  her, 

A week  but  barely  three, 

When  word  cam’  to  the  carline  wife, 
That  her  sons  she’d  never  see. 


40 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


“ I wish  the  wind  may  never  cease, 

Nor  fashes  in  the  flood, 

Till  my  three  sons  come  hame  to  me, 

In  earthly  flesh  and  blood  ! ” 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmas, 

When  nights  are  lang  and  mirk, 

The  carline  wife’s  three  sons  cam’  hame, 
And  their  hats  were  o’  the  birk. 

It  neither  grew  in  syke  nor  ditch, 

Nor  yet  in  ony  sheugh  ; 

But  at  the  gates  o’  Paradise, 

That  birk  grew  fair  eneugh. 

“ Blow  up  the  fire,  now,  maidens  mine, 
Bring  water  from  the  well ! 

For  a’  my  house  shall  feast  this  night, 
Sin’  my  three  sons  are  well.” 

And  she  has  made  to  them  a bed, 

She’s  made  it  large  and  wide  ; 

And  she’s  happed  her  mantle  them  about, 
Sat  down  at  the  bed-side. 

Up  then  crew  the  red  red  cock, 

And  up  and  crew  the  gray ; 

The  eldest  to  the  youngest  said, 

“’Tis  time  we  were  away.” 


A LYKE-WAKE  DIBGE. 


41 


44  The  cock  doth  craw,  the  day  doth  daw, 

The  channerin’  worm  doth  chide  ; 

Gin  we  be  miss’d  out  o’  our  place, 

A sail*  pain  we  maun  bide.” 

44  Lie  still,  lie  still  a little  wee  while, 

Lie  still  but  if  we  may ; 

Gin  my  mother  should  miss  us  when  she  wakes, 
She’ll  go  mad  ere  it  be  day.” 

0 it’s  they’ve  ta’en  up  their  mother’s  mantle, 
And  they’ve  hangd  it  on  the  pin  : 

“ 0 lang  may  ye  hing,  my  mother’s  mantle, 

Ere  ye  hap  us  again  ! 

4 Fare-ye-weel,  my  mother  dear  ! 

Fareweel  to  barn  and  byre  ! 

And  fare-ye-weel,  the  bonny  lass, 

That  kindles  my  mother’s  fire.” 


A LYKE-WAKE  DIRGE. 

This  ae  nighte,  this  ae  nighte, 

Everie  nighte  and  alle, 

Fire,  and  sleete,  and  candle-lighte, 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

When  thou  from  hence  away  art  paste, 
Everie  nighte  and  alle, 

To  Whinny-muir  thou  comest  at  laste, 
And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 


42 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


If  ever  thou  gayest  hosen  and  shoon, 

Eyerie  nighte  and  alle, 

Sit  thee  down  and  put  them  on, 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

If  hosen  and  shoon  thou  ne’er  gav’st  nane, 
Eyerie  nighte  and  alle, 

The  whinnes  shall  pricke  thee  to  the  bare  bane, 
And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

From  Whinny -muir  when  thou  mayst  passe, 
Everie  nighte  and  alle, 

To  Brigg  o’  Dread  thou  comest  at  last, 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

From  Brigg  o’  Dread  when  thou  mayst  passe, 
Everie  nighte  and  alle, 

To  Purgatory  Fire  thou  comest  at  lastr 
And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

If  ever  thou  gavest  meate  or  drinke, 

Everie  nighte  and  alle, 

The  fire  shall  never  make  thee  shrinke, 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

If  meate  or  drinke  thou  ne’er  gav’st  nane, 
Everie  nighte  and  alle, 

The  fire  will  burne  thee  to  the  bare  bane, 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 


PROUD  LADY  MARGARET . 


43 


This  ae  nighte,  this  ae  nighte, 
Everie  nighte  and  alle, 

IFire,  and  sleete,  and  candle-lighte, 
And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 


PEOUD  LADY  MAEGAEET. 

’Twas  on  a night,  an  evening  bright, 
When  the  dew  began  to  fa’, 

Lady  Margaret  was  walkin’  np  and  doun, 
Looking  ower  the  castle  wa\ 

She  lookit  east,  she  lookit  west, 

To  see  what  she  could  spy, 

When  a gallant  knight  cam’  in  her  sight, 
And  to  the  gate  drew  nigh. 

“ God  mak’  you  safe  and  free,  fair  maid, 
God  mak’  you  safe  and  free  ! ” 

“ 0 sae  fa’  you,  ye  stranger  knight, 

What  is  your  will  wi’  me  ? ” 


“ It’s  I am  come  to  this  castle, 

To  seek  the  love  o’  thee ; 

And  if  ye  grant  me  not  your  love 
All  for  your  sake  I’ll  die.” 


44 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


“ If  ye  should  die  for  me,  young  man, 
There’s  few  for  ye  will  maen ; 

For  mony  a better  has  died  for  me, 
Whose  graves  are  growing  green.” 

" 0 winna  ye  pity  me,  fair  maid, 

0 winna  ye  pity  me  ? 

Hae  pity  for  a courteous  knight, 

Whose  love  is  laid  on  thee.” 

“ Ye  say  ye  are  a courteous  knight, 

But  I misdoubt  ye  sair ; 

I think  ye’re  but  a miller  lad, 

By  the  white  clothes  ye  wear. 

“ But  ye  maun  read  my  riddle,”  she  said, 
“ And  answer  me  questions  three ; 

And  but  ye  read  them  richt,”  she  said, 
“ Gae  stretch  ye  out  and  die. 

“ What  is  the  fairest  flower,  tell  me, 

That  grows  on  muir  or  dale  ? 

And  what  is  the  bird,  the  bonnie  bird, 
Sings  next  the  nightingale  ? 

And  what  is  the  finest  thing,”  she  says, 
“ That  king  or  queen  can  wale  ? ” 

“ The  primrose  is  the  fairest  flower, 

That  springs  on  muir  or  dale ; 


PROUD  LADY  MARGARET . 


45 


The  mavis  is  the  sweetest  bird 
Next  to  the  nightingale ; 

And  yellow  gowd’s  the  finest  thing, 
That  king  or  queen  can  wale.” 

“ But  what  is  the  little  coin,”  she  said, 
“ Wad  buy  my  castle  boun’  ? 

And  what’s  the  little  boat,”  she  said, 
“ Can  sail  the  warld  all  roun’  ? ” 

" 0 hey,  how  mony  small  pennies 

Mak’  thrice  three  thousand  poun’  ? 

0 hey,  how  mony  small  fishes 
Swim  a’  the  saut  sea  roun’  ? ” 

* I think  ye  are  my  match,”  she  said, 

“ My  match,  an’  something  mair ; 

Ye  are  the  first  ere  got  the  grant 
Of  love  frae  my  father’s  heir. 

“ My  father  was  lord  o’  nine  castles, 
My  mither  lady  o’  three  ; 

My  father  was  lord  o’  nine  castles, 
And  there’s  nane  to  heir  but  me, 

Unless  it  be  Willie,  my  ae  brither, 
But  he’s  far  ayont  the  sea.” 

“ If  your  father’s  lord  o’  nine  castles, 
Your  mither  lady  o’  three ; 

It’s  I am  Willie,  your  ae  brither, 

Was  far  ayont  the  sea.” 


46 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


“ If  ye  be  my  brither  Willie,”  she  said, 

“ As  I doubt  sair  ye  be, 

This  nicht  Fll  neither  eat  nor  drink, 

But  gae  alang  wi7  thee.” 

“ Ye’ve  owre  ill-washen  feet,  Margaret, 
And  owre  ill-washen  hands, 

And  owre  coarse  robes  on  your  body, 
Alang  wi7  me  to  gang. 

“ The  worms  they  are  my  bedfellows, 

And  the  cauld  clay  my  sheet, 

And  the  higher  that  the  wind  does  blaw, 
The  sounder  do  I sleep. 

“ My  body’s  buried  in  Dunfermline, 

Sae  far  ayont  the  sea : 

But  day  nor  night  nae  rest  can  I get, 

A7  for  the  pride  of  thee. 

“ Leave  aff  your  pride,  Margaret,”  he  says 
“Use  it  not  ony  mair, 

Or,  when  ye  come  where  I hae  been, 

Ye  will  repent  it  sair. 

“ Cast  aff,  cast  aff,  sister,”  he  says, 

“ The  gowd  band  frae  your  croun ; 

For  if  ye  gang  where  I hae  been, 

Ye’ll  wear  it  laigher  doun. 


PROUD  LADY  MARGARET. 


47 


u When  ye  are  in  the  gude  kirk  set, 

The  gowd  pins  in  your  hair, 

Ye  tak’  mair  delight  in  your  feckless  dress, 
Than  in  your  morn  in’  prayer. 

u And  when  ye  walk  in  the  kirkyard, 

And  in  your  dress  are  seen, 

There  is  nae  lady  that  spies  your  face, 

But  wishes  your  grave  were  green. 

“ Ye’re  straight  and  tall,  handsome  withal, 
But  your  pride  owergangs  your  wit ; 

If  ye  do  not  your  ways  refrain, 

In  Pirie’s  chair  ye’ll  sit. 

“ In  Pirie’s  chair  ye’ll  sit,  I say, 

The  lowest  seat  in  hell ; 

If  ye  do  not  amend  your  ways, 

It’s  there  that  ye  maun  dwell ! ” 

Wi’  that  he  vanished  frae  her  sight, 

In  the  twinking  of  an  eye ; 

And  naething  mair  the  lady  saw 
But  the  gloomy  clouds  and  sky. 


48 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


THE  TWA  SISTEKS  O’  BINNORIE. 

There  were  twa  sisters  lived  in  a bower ; 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

The  youngest  o’  them,  0 she  was  a flower, 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

There  cam’  a squire  frae  the  west, 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

He  lo’ed  them  baith,  but  the  youngest  best, 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

He  courted  the  eldest  wi’  glove  and  ring, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

But  he  lo’ed  the  youngest  abune  a’  thing, 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

The  eldest  she  was  vexed  sair, 

Binnorie,  O Binnorie ; 

And  sore  envied  her  sister  fair, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

The  eldest  said  to  the  youngest  ane, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

“ Will  ye  see  our  father’s  ships  come  in  ? ” 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 


THE  TWA  SISTERS  O’  BINNORIE . 


49 


She’s  ta’en  her  by  the  lily  hand ; 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  led  her  down  to  the  river  strand, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

The  youngest  stood  upon  a stane ; 

Binnorie,  O Binnorie ; 

The  eldest  cam’  and  pushed  her  in, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie 

“ 0 sister,  sister,  reach  your  hand, 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  ye  shall  be  heir  of  half  my  land,” 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

“ 0 sister,  I’ll  not  reach  my  hand, 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  I’ll  be  the  heir  of  all  your  land ; 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

“ Shame  fa’  the  hand  that  I should  take, 
Binnorie,  O Binnorie ; 

It  has  twined  me  and  my  world’s  make ; ” 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

“ 0 sister,  sister,  reach  your  glove, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  sweet  William  shall  be  your  love ; ” 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 


50 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


“ Sink  on,  nor  hope  for  hand  or  glove, 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  sweet  William  shall  be  mair  my  love, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

“ Your  cherry  cheeks,  and  your  yellow  hair, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

Had  gar’d  me  gang  maiden  ever  mair,” 

By  the  bonnie  haill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

Sometimes  she  sank,  and  sometimes  she  swam, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie  ; 

Until  she  cam’  to  the  miller’s  dam ; 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

The  miller’s  daughter  was  baking  bread, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  gaed  for  water  as  she  had  need, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

“ 0 father,  father,  draw  your  dam  ! 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

For  there  is  a lady  or  milk-white  swan,” 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

The  miller  hasted  and  drew  his  dam, 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  there  he  found  a drown’d  woman, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 


TEE  TWA  SISTERS  O’  BINNORIE. 


Ye  couldna  see  her  yellow  hair, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

For  gowd  and  pearls  that  were  sae  rare 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

Ye  couldna  see  her  middle  sma’, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

Her  gowden  girdle  was  sae  braw, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

Ye  couldna  see  her  lilie  feet, 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

Her  gowden  fringes  were  sae  deep, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

“ Sair  will  they  be,  whae’er  they  be, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

The  hearts  that  live  to  weep  for  thee ! ” 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

There  cam’  a harper  passing  by, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

The  sweet  pale  face  he  chanced  to  spy, 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

And  when  he  looked  that  lady  on, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

He  sighed  and  made  a heavy  moan, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 


52 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


He  has  ta’en  three  locks  o’  her  yellow  hair, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  wi’  them  strung  his  harp  sae  rare, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

He  brought  the  harp  to  her  father’s  hall ; 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  there  was  the  court  assembled  all  \ 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie 

He  set  the  harp  upon  a stane, 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ; 

And  it  began  to  play  alane, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

And  sune  the  harp  sang  loud  and  clear, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ! 

“ Farewell,  my  father  and  mither  dear ! ” 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

And  neist  when  the  harp  began  to  sing, 
Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ! 

’Twas  “ Farewell,  sweetheart ! ” said  the  string, 
By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 

And  then  as  plain  as  plain  could  be, 

Binnorie,  0 Binnorie ! 

“ There  sits  my  sister  wha  drowned  me  ! ” 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o’  Binnorie. 


TEE  DEMON  LOVER. 


53 


THE  DEMON  LOVER. 

“ 0,  where  hae  ye  been,  my  lang-lost  love, 
This  lang  seven  years  an’  more  ? ” 

“ 0,  I’m  come  to  seek  my  former  vows 
Ye  granted  me  before.” 

“ 0,  haud  your  tongue  o’  your  former  vows, 
For  they’ll  breed  bitter  strife  ; 

0,  haud  your  tongue  o’  your  former  vows, 
For  I am  become  a wife.” 

He  turned  him  right  an’  round  about, 

And  the  tear  blinded  his  e’e  ; 

“ I wad  never  hae  trodden  on  Irish  ground 
If  it  hadna  been  for  thee. 

“ I might  hae  had  a king’s  daughter 
Far,  far  ayont  the  sea, 

I might  hae  had  a king’s  daughter, 

Had  it  nae  been  for  love  o’  thee.” 

“ If  ye  might  hae  had  a king’s  daughter, 
Yoursel’  ye  hae  to  blame  ; 

Ye  might  hae  taken  the  king’s  daughter, 
For  ye  kenn’d  that  I was  nane.” 


54 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


“ 0 fause  be  the  vows  o’  womankind, 

But  fair  is  their  fause  bodie ; 

I wad  never  hae  trodden  on  Irish  ground 
Had  it  nae  been  for  love  o’  thee.” 

“ If  I was  to  leave  my  husband  dear, 

And  my  twa  babes  also, 

0 where  is  it  ye  would  tak’  me  to, 

If  I with  thee  should  go  ? ” 

“ I hae  seven  ships  upon  the  sea, 

The  eighth  brouct  me  to  land, 

Wi’  four-and-twenty  bold  mariners, 

And  music  of  ilka  hand.” 

She  has  taken  up  her  twa  little  babes, 
Kiss’d  them  baith  cheek  and  chin ; 

“ 0 fare  ye  weel,  my  ain  twa  babes, 

For  I’ll  never  see  you  again.” 

She  set  her  foot  upon  the  ship, 

No  mariners  could  she  behold  ; 

But  the  sails  were  o’  the  taffetie, 

And  the  masts  o’  the  beaten  gold. 

“ 0 how  do  you  love  the  ship  ? ” he  said, 

“ 0 how  do  you  love  the  sea  ? 

And  how  do  you  love  the  bold  mariners 
That  wait  upon  thee  and  me  ? ” 


THE  DEMON  LOVER. 


55 


" 0 I do  love  the  ship,”  she  said, 

“ And  I do  love  the  sea ; 

But  wae  to  the  dim  mariners 
That  naewhere  I can  see ! ” 

They  hadna  sailed  a league,  a league, 

A league  but  barely  three, 

When  dismal  grew  his  countenance, 

And  drumly  grew  his  e’e. 

The  masts  that  were  like  the  beaten  gold, 

Bent  not  on  the  heaving  seas  ; 

The  sails  that  were  o’  the  taffetie 
Fill’d  not  in  the  east  land  breeze. 

They  hadna  sailed  a league,  a league, 

A league  but  barely  three, 

Until  she  espied  his  cloven  hoof, 

And  she  wept  right  bitterlie. 

“ 0 haud  your  tongue  o’  your  weeping,”  he  says  : 
“ O’  your  weeping  now  let  me  be  ; 

I will  show  you  how  the  lilies  grow 
On  the  banks  of  Italy.” 

“ 0 what  hills  are  yon,  yon  pleasant  hills, 

That  the  sun  shines  sweetly  on  ? ” 

“0  yon  are  the  hills  o’  heaven,”  he  said, 

“ Where  you  will  never  won.” 


56 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION . 


“ 0 what’ri  a mountain’s  yon,”  she  said, 

“ Sae  dreary  wi’  frost  an’  snow  ? ” 

0 yon  is  the  mountain  o’  hell,”  he  cried, 

“ Where  you  and  I maun  go  ! ” 

And  aye  when  she  turn’d  her  round  about, 
Aye  taller  he  seemed  for  to  be  ; 

Until  that  the  tops  o’  that  gallant  ship 
Nae  taller  were  than  he. 

He  strack  the  tapmast  wi’  his  hand, 

The  foremast  wi’  his  knee ; 

And  he  brak  that  gallant  ship  in  twain, 
And  sank  her  i’  the  sea. 


KIDDLES  WISELY  EXPOUNDED. 

There  was  a knicht  riding  frae  the  east, 
Jennifer  gentle  an ’ rosemaree. 

Who  had  been  wooing  at  monie  a place, 

As  the  dew  flies  ower  the  mulberry  tree . 

He  cam’  unto  a widow’s  door, 

And  speird  whare  her  three  dochters  were. 

The  auldest  ane’s  to  a washing  gane, 

The  second’s  to  a baking  gane. 


RIDDLES  WISELY  EXPOUNDED . 


57 


The  youngest  ane’s  to  a wedding  gane, 

And  it  will  be  nicht  or  she  be  hame. 

He  sat  him  doun  upon  a stane, 

Till  thir  three  lasses  cam*  tripping  hame. 

The  auldest  ane  she  let  him  in, 

And  pin’d  the  door  wi’  a siller  pin. 

The  second  ane  she  made  his  bed, 

And  laid  saft  pillows  unto  his  head. 

The  youngest  ane  was  bauld  and  bricht, 

And  she  tarried  for  words  wi’  this  unco  knicht. 

“ Gin  ye  will  answer  me  questions  ten, 

The  morn  ye  sail  be  made  my  ain. 

“ 0 what  is  heigher  nor  the  tree  ? 

And  what  is  deeper  nor  the  sea  ? 

“ Or  what  is  heavier  nor  the  lead  ? 

And  what  is  better  nor  the  breid  ? 

“ 0 what  is  whiter  nor  the  milk  ? 

Or  what  is  safter  nor  the  silk  ? 

“ Or  what  is  sharper  nor  a thorn  ? 

Or  what  is  louder  nor  a horn  ? 


58 


BALLADS  OF  SUPERSTITION. 


“ Or  what  is  greener  nor  the  grass  ? 

Or  what  is  wanr  nor  a woman  was  ? ” 

“ 0 heaven  is  higher  nor  the  tree, 

And  hell  is  deeper  nor  the  sea. 

“ 0 sin  is  heavier  nor  the  lead, 

The  blessing’s  better  nor  the  breid. 

“ The  snaw  is  whiter  nor  the  milk, 

And  the  down  is  safter  nor  the  silk. 

“ Hunger  is  sharper  nor  a thorn, 

And  shame  is  louder  nor  a horn. 

“ The  pies  are  greener  nor  the  grass, 

And  Clootie’s  waur  nor  a woman  was.” 

As  sune  as  she  the  fiend  did  name, 
Jennifer  gentle  an ’ rosemaree , 

He  flew  awa  in  a blazing  flame, 

As  the  dew  flies  ower  the  mulberry  tree . 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


SIR  PATRICK  SPENS. 

The  King  sits  in  Dunfermline  toun, 
Drinking  the  blude-red  wine  ; 

“ 0 whaur  shall  I get  a skeely  skipper, 
To  sail  this  gude  ship  of  mine  ? ” 

Then  up  an’  spake  an  eldern  knight, 
Sat  at  the  King’s  right  knee  ; 

“ Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor 
That  ever  sailed  the  sea.” 

The  King  has  written  a braid  letter, 
And  seal’d  it  wi’  his  hand, 

And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens 
Was  walking  on  the  sand. 

“ To  Norow  ay,  to  Noroway, 

To  Noroway  o’er  the  faem  ; 

The  King’s  daughter  to  Noroway, 

It’s  thou  maun  tak’  her  hame.” 

The  first  line  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

A loud  laugh  laughed  he, 

The  neist  line  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 
The  tear  blinded  his  e’e. 


62 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


“ 0 wha  is  this  hae  dune  this  deed, 

And  tauld  the  King  o’  me, 

To  send  us  out  at  this  time  o’  the  year 
To  sail  upon  the  sea  ? 

“ Be  it  wind  or  weet,  be  it  hail  or  sleet, 

Our  ship  maun  sail  the  faem, 

The  King’s  daughter  to  Koroway, 

’Tis  we  maun  tak’  her  hame.” 

They  hoisted  their  sails  on  Monday  morn, 
Wi’  a’  the  speed  they  may ; 

And  they  hae  landed  in  Koroway 
Upon  the  Wodensday. 

They  hadna  been  a week,  a week, 

In  Koroway  but  twae, 

When  that  the  lords  o’  Noroway 
Began  aloud  to  say  — 

“Ye  Scotsmen  spend  a’  our  King’s  gowd, 
And  a’  our  Queenis  fee.” 

“ Ye  lie,  ye  lie,  ye  liars  loud, 

Sae  loud’s  I hear  ye  lie  ! 

“ For  I brouct  as  mickle  white  monie, 

As  gane  my  men  and  me, 

And  a half-fou  o’  the  gude  red  gold, 

Out  owre  the  sea  wi’  me. 


SIB  PATRICK  SPKNS. 


63 


“ Mak’  ready,  mak’  ready,  my  merry  men  a’, 

Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn.” 

“Now  ever  alack,  my  master  dear, 

I fear  a deadly  storm. 

“ I saw  the  new  moon  late  yestreen, 

Wi’  the  auld  moon  in  her  arm ; 

And  I fear,  I fear,  my  master  dear, 

That  we  sail  come  to  harm  ! ” 

They  hadna  sail’d  a league,  a league, 

A league  but  barely  three, 

When  the  lift  grew  dark,  and  the  wind  blew  loud, 
And  gurly  grew  the  sea. 

The  ropes  they  brak,  and  the  top-masts  lap, 

It  was  sic  a deadly  storm ; 

And  the  waves  cam’  o’er  the  broken  ship, 

Till  a’  her  sides  were  torn. 

“ 0 whaur  will  I get  a gude  sailor 
Will  tak’  the  helm  in  hand, 

Until  I win  to  the  tall  top-mast, 

And  see  if  I spy  the  land  ? ” 

“ It’s  here  am  I,  a sailor  gude, 

Will  tak’  the  helm  in  hand, 

Till  ye  win  to  the  tall  top-mast, 

But  I fear  ye’ll  ne’er  spy  land.” 


64 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


He  hadna  gane  a step,  a step, 

A step  but  barely  ane, 

When  a bolt  flew  out  of  the  gude  ship’s  side, 

And  the  saut  sea  it  cam’  in. 

“ Gae,  fetch  a web  of  the  silken  claith, 

Anither  o’  the  twine, 

And  wap  them  into  the  gude  ship’s  side, 

And  let  na  the  sea  come  in.” 

They  fetched  a web  o’  the  silken  claith, 

Anither  o’  the  twine, 

And  they  wapp’d  them  into  that  gude  ship’s  side, 
But  aye  the  sea  cam’  in. 

0 laith,  laith,  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 
To  weet  their  cock-heeled  shoon, 

But  lang  ere  a’  the  play  was  o’er 
They  wat  their  hats  abune. 

O laith,  laith  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 
To  weet  their  milk-white  hands, 

But  lang  ere  a’  the  play  was  played 
They  wat  their  gouden  bands. 

0 lang,  lang  may  the  ladies  sit, 

Wi’  their  fans  into  their  hand, 

Or  ever  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 
Come  sailing  to  the  land. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  OTTERBURNE. 


65 


0 lang,  lang  may  the  maidens  sit, 

Wi’  their  gowd  kaims  in  their  hair, 
A’  waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves, 

For  them  they’ll  see  nae  mair. 

Half  owre,  half  owre  to  Aberdour, 

It’s  fifty  fathom  deep, 

And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 
Wi’  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  OTTERBURNE. 

It  fell  about  the  Lammas  tide, 

When  muirmen  win  their  hay, 

That  the  doughty  Earl  of  Douglas  rade 
Into  England  to  fetch  a prey. 

And  he  has  ta’en  the  Lindsays  light, 
With  them  the  Gordons  gay ; 

But  the  Jardines  wad  not  with  him  ride, 
And  they  rue  it  to  this  day. 

Then  they  hae  harried  the  dales  o’  Tyne, 
And  half  o’  Bambrough-shire, 

And  the  Otter-dale  they  burned  it  haill, 
And  set  it  a’  on  fire. 


66 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


Then  he  cam’  up  to  New  Castel, 
And  rade  it  round  about : 

“ 0 who  is  the  lord  of  this  castel, 

Or  who  is  the  lady  o’t  ? ” 

But  up  and  spake  Lord  Percy  then, 
And  0 but  he  spake  hie : 

“ It’s  I am  the  lord  of  this  castel, 

My  wife  is  the  lady  gay.” 

“ If  thou’rt  the  lord  of  this  castel, 

Sae  weel  it  pleases  me ! 

For  ere  I cross  the  Border  fell, 

The  tane  of  us  shall  dee.”  — 

He  took  a lang  spear  in  his  hand, 
Shod  with  the  metal  free ; 

And  forth  to  meet  the  Douglas  then, 
He  rade  richt  furiouslie. 

But  0 how  pale  his  lady  looked 
Frae  aff  the  castle  wa’, 

As  doun  before  the  Scottish  spear 
She  saw  proud  Percy  fa’ ! 

“ Had  we  twa  been  upon  the  green, 
And  never  an  eye  to  see, 

I wad  hae  had  you,  flesh  and  fell, 
But  your  sword  shall  gae  wi’  me.” 


THE  BATTLE  OF  OTTERBURNE. 


67 


u Now  gae  up  to  the  Otterburne, 

And  bide  there  dayis  three, 

And  gin  I come  not  ere  they  end, 

A fause  knight  ca?  ye  me  ! ” 

a The  Otterburne  is  a bonnie  burn, 

’Tis  pleasant  there  to  be ; 

But  there  is  nought  at  Otterburne 
To  feed  my  men  and  me. 

“ The  deer  rins  wild  on  hill  and  dale, 

The  birds  fly  wild  frae  tree  to  tree ; 

But  there  is  neither  bread  nor  kale, 

To  fend  my  men  and  me. 

" Yet  I will  stay  at  the  Otterburne, 

Where  you  shall  welcome  be  ; 

And,  if  ye  come  not  at  three  dayis  end, 

A fause  lord  Fll  ca?  thee.” 

u Thither  will  I come,”  Earl  Percy  said, 

By  the  might  of  our  Ladye  ! ” 

“ There  will  I bide  thee,”  said  the  Douglas, 
“ My  troth  I plight  to  thee ! ” 

They  lichted  high  on  Otterburne, 

Upon  the  bent  sae  broun; 

They  lichted  high  on  Otterburne, 

And  pitched  their  pallions  doun, 


68 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


And  he  that  had  a bonnie  boy, 

He  sent  his  horse  to  grass ; 

And  he  that  had  not  a bonnie  boy, 

His  ain  servant  he  was. 

Then  up  and  spake  a little  boy, 

Was  near  of  Douglas’  kin  — 

“ Methinks  I see  an  English  host 
Come  branking  us  upon ! 

“ Nine  wargangs  beiring  braid  and  wide, 
Seven  banners  beiring  high ; 

It  wad  do  any  living  gude, 

To  see  their  colours  fly ! ” 

“ If  this  be  true,  my  little  boy, 

That  thou  tells  unto  me, 

The  brawest  bower  o’  the  Otterburne 
Sail  be  thy  morning  fee. 

“ But  I hae  dreamed  a dreary  dream, 
Ayont  the  Isle  o’  Skye,  — 

I saw  a deid  man  win  a fight, 

And  I think  that  man  was  I.” 

He  belted  on  his  gude  braid-sword, 

And  to  the  field  he  ran ; 

But  he  forgot  the  hewmont  strong, 
That  should  have  kept  his  brain. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  OTTERBUBNE . 


69 


When  Percy  wi’  the  Douglas  met, 

I wot  he  was  fu’  fain : 

They  swakkit  swords,  and  they  twa  swat, 
Till  the  blude  ran  down  like  rain. 

But  Percy  wi’  his  gude  braid-sword, 

That  could  sae  sharply  wound, 

Has  wounded  Douglas  on  the  brow, 

That  he  fell  to  the  ground. 

And  then  he  called  his  little  foot-page, 
And  said  — “ Kun  speedilie, 

And  fetch  my  ae  dear  sister’s  son, 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomerie. 

“ My  nephew  gude  ! 99  the  Douglas  said, 

“ What  recks  the  death  of  ane  ? 

Last  night  I dreamed  a dreary  dream, 
And  ken  the  day’s  thy  ain ! 

“ My  wound  is  deep ; I fain  wad  sleep ! 
Tak’  thou  the  vanguard  o’  the  three, 
And  bury  me  by  the  bracken  bush, 

That  grows  on  yonder  lily  lea. 

“ 0 bury  me  by  the  bracken  bush, 

Beneath  the  blumin’  brier ; 

Let  never  living  mortal  ken 
That  a kindly  Scot  lies  here ! ” 


70 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


He  lifted  up  that  noble  lord, 

Wi’  the  saut  tear  in  his  e?e ; 

And  he  hid  him  by  the  bracken  bush, 

That  his  merry  men  might  not  see. 

The  moon  was  clear,  the  day  drew  near, 

The  spears  in  flinders  flew ; 

And  many  a gallant  Englishman 
Ere  day  the  Scotsmen  slew. 

The  Gordons  gay,  in  English  blude 
They  wat  their  hose  and  shoon ; 

The  Lindsays  flew  like  fire  about, 

Till  a?  the  fray  was  dune. 

The  Percy  and  Montgomery  met, 

That  either  of  other  was  fain ; 

They  swakkit  swords,  and  sair  they  swat, 
And  the  blude  ran  down  between. 

“ Now  yield  thee,  yield  thee,  Percy ! ” he  said, 
Or  else  I will  lay  thee  low ! ” 

66  To  whom  maun  I yield,”  Earl  Percy  said, 

“ Since  I see  that  it  maun  be  so  ? ” 

“ Thou  shalt  not  yield  to  lord  or  loun, 

Nor  yet  shalt  thou  yield  to  me ; 

But  yield  thee  to  the  bracken-bush 
That  grows  on  yonder  lily  lea ! ” 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT . 


71 


This  deed  was  done  at  the  Otterburne 
About  the  breaking  o’  the  day ; 

Earl  Douglas  was  buried  at  the  bracken  bush, 
And  the  Percy  led  captive  away. 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT. 

THE  FIRST  FIT. 

The  Perse  owt  off  Northombarlande, 

And  a vowe  to  God  mayd  he, 

That  he  wold  hunte  in  the  mountayns 
Off  Chyviat  within  days  thre, 

In  the  mauger  of  doughte  Dogles, 

And  all  that  ever  with  him  be. 

The  fattiste  hartes  in  all  Cheviat 

He  sayd  he  wold  kill,  and  cary  them  away : 
“ Be  my  feth,”  sayd  the  dougheti  Doglas  agaym, 
“ I wyll  let  that  hontyng,  yf  that  I may.” 

Then  the  Perse  owt  of  Banborowe  cam, 

With  him  a myghtye  meany ; 

With  fifteen  hondrith  archares  bold ; 

7 « 

The  wear  chosen  owt  of  shyars  thre. 

This  begane  on  a monday  at  morn, 

In  Cheviat  the  hillys  so  he ; 

The  chyld  may  rue  that  ys  un-born, 

It  was  the  mor  pitte. 


72 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION . 


The  dryvars  thorowe  the  woodes  went, 

For  to  reas  the  dear; 

Bomen  byekarte  uppone  the  bent 
With  ther  browd  aras  cleare. 

Then  the  wyld  thorowe  the  woodes  went, 

On  every  syde  shear ; 

Grea-hondes  thorowe  the  grevis  glent, 

For  to  kyll  thear  dear. 

The  begane  in  Chyviat  the  hyls  above, 

Yerly  on  a monnynday ; 

Be  that  it  drewe  to  the  oware  off  none, 

A hondrith  fat  hartes  ded  ther  lay. 

The  blewe  a mort  uppone  the  bent, 

The  semblvd  on  sydis  shear ; 

To  the  quyrry  then  the  Perse  went 
To  se  the  bryttlynge  off  the  deare. 

He  sayd,  “ It  was  the  Duglas  promys 
This  day  to  meet  me  hear ; 

But  I wyste  he  wold  fay  lie,  verament : 99 
A gret  oth  the  Perse  swear. 

At  the  laste  a squyar  of  !Northombelonde 
Lokyde  at  his  hand  full  ny ; 

He  was  war  ath  the  doughetie  Doglas  comynge, 
With  him  a myghte  meany ; 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT. 


73 


Both  with  spear,  byll,  and  brande ; 

Yt  was  a myghti  sight  to  se ; 

Hardy ar  men  both  off  hart  nar  hande 
Wear  not  in*  Christiante. 

The  wear  twenty  hondrith  spear-men  good, 

Withowte  any  fayle ; 

The  wear  borne  along  be  the  watter  a Twyde, 

Yth  bowndes  of  Tividale. 

“ Leave  off  the  bry tlyng  of  the  dear,”  he  sayde, 

“ And  to  your  bowys  lock  ye  tayk  good  heed ; 

For  never  sithe  ye  wear  on  your  mothars  borne 
Had  ye  never  so  mickle  need.” 

The  dougheti  Dogglas  on  a stede 
He  rode  aft  his  men  beforne ; 

His  armor  glytteryde  as  dyd  a glede ; 

A bolder  barne  was  never  born. 

u Tell  me  what  men  ye  ar,”  he  says, 

“ Or  whos  men  that  ye  be : 

Who  gave  youe  leave  to  hunte  in  this  Chyviat  chays, 
In  the  spyt  of  me  ? ” 

The  first  mane  that  ever  him  an  answear  mayd, 

Yt  was  the  good  lord  Perse  : 

We  wyll  not  tell  the  what  men  we  ar,”  he  says, 

“ Nor  whos  men  that  we  be  ; 

But  we  wyll  hount  hear  in  this  chays, 

In  the  spyt  of  thyne  and  of  the. 


74 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION . 


“ The  fattiste  hartes  in  all  Chy  viat 

We  have  kyld,  and  cast  to  carry  them  a-way  : ” 

“Be  my  troth/’  sayd  the  doughte  Dogglas  agayn, 

“ Ther-for  the  ton  of  us  shall  de  this  day.” 

Then  sayd  the  doughty  Doglas 
Unto  the  lord  Perse : 

“ To  kyll  all  thes  giltles  men, 

Alas,  it  were  great  pitte ! 

“ But,  Perse,  thowe  art  a lord  of  lande, 

I am  a yerle  callyd  within  my  contre ; 

Let  all  our  men  uppone  a parti  stande, 

And  do  the  battell  off  the  and  of  me.” 

“ Nowe  Cristes  cors  on  his  crowne,”  sayd  the  lord  Perse, 
“ Whosoever  ther-to  says  nay ; 

Be  my  troth,  doughte  Doglas,”  he  says, 

“ Thow  shalt  never  se  that  day. 

“Nethar  in  Ynglonde,  Skottlonde,  nar  Prance, 

Nor  for  no  man  of  a woman  born, 

But,  and  fortune  be  my  chance, 

I dar  met  him,  on  man  for  on.” 

Then  bespayke  a squyar  off  Northombarlonde, 

Eichard  Wytharynton  was  him  nam ; 

“ It  shall  never  be  told  in  Sothe-Ynglonde,”  he  says, 

“ To  kyng  Herry  the  fourth  for  sham. 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT. 


75 


“ I wat  youe  byn  great  lordes  twaw, 

I am  a poor  squyar  of  lande ; 

I wyll  never  se  my  captayne  fyght  on  a fylde, 

And  stande  myselffe,  and  looke  on, 

But  whyll  I may  my  weppone  welde, 

I wyll  not  ffayll  both  hart  and  hande.’* 

That  day,  that  day,  that  dredfull  day ! 

The  first  fit  here  I fynde  ; 

And  youe  wyll  here  any  mor  a?  the  hountyng  a’ 
the  Chyviat, 

Yet  ys  ther  mor  behynd. 


THE  SECOND  FIT. 

The  Yngglyshe  men  hade  ther  bowys  yebent, 
Ther  hartes  were  good  yenoughe  ; 

The  first  off  arros  that  the  shote  off, 

Seven  skore  spear-men  the  sloughe. 

Yet  byddys  the  yerle  Doglas  uppon  the  bent, 
A captayne  good  yenoughe, 

And  that  was  sene  verament, 

For  he  wrought  horn  both  woo  and  wouche. 

The  Dogglas  pertyd  his  ost  in  thre, 

Lyk  a cheffe  cheften  off  pryde, 

With  suar  speares  off  myghtte  tre, 

The  cum  in  on  every  syde : 


76 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


Thrughe  our  Yngglishe  archery 
Gave  many  a wounde  full  wyde ; 

Many  a doughete  the  garde  to  dy, 

Which  ganyde  them  no  pryde. 

The  Yngglyshe  men  let  thear  bowys  be, 

And  pulde  owt  brandes  that  wer  bright ; 

It  was  a hevy  syght  to  se 
Bryght  swordes  on  basnites  lyght. 

Throrowe  ryche  male  and  myneyeple, 

Many  sterne  the  stroke  downe  streght; 

Many  a freyke,  that  was  full  fre, 

Ther  undar  foot  dyd  lyght. 

At  last  the  Duglas  and  the  Perse  met, 

Lyk  to  captayns  of  myght  and  of  mayne  ; 

The  swapte  togethar  tyll  the  both  swat, 

With  swordes  that  wear  of  fyn  myllkn. 

Thes  worthe  freckys  for  to  fyght, 

Ther-to  the  wear  full  fayne, 

Tyll  the  bloode  owte  off  thear  basnetes  sprente, 
As  ever  dyd  heal  or  rayne. 

“ Holde  the,  Perse,”  sayd  the  Doglas, 

“ And  i’  feth  I shall  the  brynge 

Wher  thowe  shalte  have  a yerls  wagis 
Of  Jamy  our  Scottish  kynge. 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT. 


77 


“ Thoue  shalte  have  thy  ranson  fre, 

I hight  the  hear  this  thinge, 

For  the  manfullyste  man  yet  art  thowe, 

That  ever  I conqueryd  in  hide  fightyng.” 

“ USTa y,”  sayd  the  lord  PersS, 

“ I tolde  it  the  beforne, 

That  I wolde  never  yeldyde  be 
To  no  man  of  woman  born.” 

With  that  ther  cam  an  arrowe  hastely 
Forthe  off  a myghtte  wane  ; 

Hit  hathe  strekene  the  yerle  Duglas 
In  at  the  brest  bane. 

Thoroue  lyvar  and  longs  bathe 
The  sharp  arrowe  ys  gane, 

That  never  after  in  all  his  lyffe-days, 

He  spayke  mo  wordes  but  ane  : 

That  was,  “Fyghte  ye,  my  merry  men,  whyllys  ye  may, 
For  my  lyff-days  ben  gan.” 

The  Perse  leanyde  on  his  brande, 

And  sawe  the  Duglas  de  ; 

He  tooke  the  dede  man  be  the  hande, 

And  sayd,  " Wo  ys  me  for  the  ! 

“ To  have  savyde  thy  lyffe  I wolde  have  pertyde  with 
My  landes  for  years  thre, 

For  a better  man,  of  hart  nare  of  hande, 

Was  not  in  all  the  north  contre.” 


t 


78 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION . 


Off  all  that  se  a Skottishe  knyght, 

Was  callyd  Sir  Hewe  the  Mongonbyrry ; 

He  sawe  the  Duglas  to  the  deth  was  dyght, 
He  spendyd  a spear,  a trusti  tre  : — 

He  rod  uppon  a corsiare 

Throughe  a hondrith  archery : 

He  never  styntyde,  nar  never  blane, 

Tyll  he  cam  to  the  good  lord  Perse. 

He  set  uppone  the  lord  Perse 
A dynte  that  was  full  soare ; 

With  a suar  spear  of  a myghtte  tre 

Clean  thorow  the  body  he  the  Perse  bore, 

A?  the  tother  syde  that  a man  myght  se 
A large  cloth  yard  and  mare  : 

Towe  bettar  captayns  wear  nat  in  Christiante, 
Then  that  day  slain  wear  ther. 

An  archar  off  Northomberlonde 
Say  slean  was  the  lord  Perse ; 

He  bar  a bende-bowe  in  his  hande, 

Was  made  off  trusti  tre. 

An  arow,  that  a cloth  yarde  was  lang, 

To  th?  hard  stele  halyde  he ; 

A dynt  that  was  both  sad  and  soar, 

He  sat  on  Sir  Hewe  the  Mongonbyrry. 


t 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT . 


79 


The  dynt  yt  was  both  sad  and  sar, 

That  he  on  Mongonberry  sete  ; 

The  swane-fethars,  that  his  arrowe  bar, 

With  his  hart-blood  the  wear  wete. 

Ther  was  never  a freake  wone  foot  wolde  fie, 
But  still  in  stour  dyd  stand, 

Heawyng  on  yche  othar,  whyll  the  myght  dre, 
With  many  a balful  brande. 

This  battell  begane  in  Chyviat 
An  owar  befor  the  none, 

And  when  even-song  bell  was  rang, 

The  battell  was  nat  half  done. 

The  tooke  on  ethar  hand 
Be  the  lyght  off  the  mone  ; 

Many  hade  no  strenght  for  to  stande, 

In  Chyviat  the  hillys  aboun. 

Of  fifteen  hondrith  archars  of  Yonglonde 
Went  away  but  fifti  and  thre  ; 

Of  twenty  hondrith  spear-men  of  Skotlonde, 
But  even  five  and  fifti : 

But  all  wear  slayne  Cheviat  within ; 

The  hade  no  strengthe  to  stand  on  hie ; 

The  chylde  may  rue  that  ys  unborne, 

It  was  the  mor  pitte. 


80 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


Thear  was  slayne  with  the  lord  Perse 
Sir  J ohn  of  Agerstone, 

Sir  Rogar  the  hinde  Hartly, 

Sir  Wyllyam  the  bolde  Hearone. 

Sir  Jorg  the  worthe  Lovele, 

A knyght  of  great  renowen, 

Sir  Raff  the  ryche  Rugbe, 

With  dyntes  wear  beaten  dowene. 

For  Wetharryngton  my  harte  was  wo, 

That  ever  he  slayne  shulde  be ; 

For  when  both  his  leggis  wear  hewyne  in  to, 
Yet  he  knyled  and  fought  on  hys  kne. 

Ther  was  slayne  with  the  dougheti  Douglas, 
Sir  Hewe  the  Mongonbyrry, 

Sir  Davye  Lwdale,  that  worthe  was, 

His  sistars  son  was  he  : 

His  Charls  a Murre  in  that  place, 

That  never  a foot  wolde  fle  ; 

Sir  Hewe  Maxwell,  a lorde  he  was, 

With  the  Duglas  dyd  he  dey. 

So  on  the  morrowe  the  mayde  them  byears 
Off  birch  and  hasell  so  gray ; 

Many  wedous  with  wepyng  tears 
Cam  to  fach  ther  makys  away. 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT . 


81 


Tivydale  may  carpe  off  care, 

Northombarlond  may  mayk  grat  mon, 

For  towe  such  captayns  as  slayne  wear  thear, 

On  the  march  perti  shall  never  be  non. 

Word  ys  commen  to  Eddenburrowe, 

To  Jamy  the  Skottishe  kyng, 

That  dougheti  Duglas,  lyff-tenant  of  the  Merches, 
He  lay  slean  Chyviot  with-in. 

His  handdes  dyd  he  weal  and  wryng, 

He  sayd,  “ Alas,  and  woe  ys  me  ! 

“ Such  an  othar  captayn  Skotland  within,” 

He  sayd,  “ y-feth  shall  never  be.” 

Worde  ys  commyn  to  lovly  Londone, 

Till  the  fourth  Harry  our  kyng, 

That  lord  Perse,  lyffe-tennante  of  the  Merchis, 

He  lay  slayne  Chy viat  within. 

“ God  have  merci  on  his  soil,”  sayd  kyng  Harry, 

“ Good  lord,  yf  thy  will  it  be  ! 

I have  a hondrith  captayns  in  Ynglonde,”  he  sayd, 
“ As  good  as  ever  was  hee  : 

But  Perse,  and  I brook  my  lyffe, 

Thy  deth  well  quyte  shall  be.” 

As  our  noble  kyng  mayd  his  a-vowe, 

Lyke  a noble  prince  of  renowen, 

For  the  deth  of  the  lord  Perse 

He  dyde  the  battell  of  Hornby  11-down : 


82 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


Wher  syx  and  thritte  Skottishe  knyghtes 
On  a day  wear  beaten  down  ; 

Glendale  glytteryde  on  tlier  armor  bryght, 

Over  castill,  towar,  and  town. 

This  was  the  Hontynge  off  the  Cheviat ; 

That  tear  begane  this  spurn  : 

Old  men  that  knowen  the  grownde  well  yenoughe, 
Call  it  the  Battell  of  Otterbnrn. 

At  Otterburn  began  this  spurne 
Uppon  a monnynday : 

Ther  was  the  dougghte  Doglas  slean, 

The  Perse  never  went  away. 

Ther  was  never  a tym  on  the  March  partes 
Sen  the  Doglas  and  the  Perse  met, 

But  yt  was  marvele,  and  the  redde  blude  ronne  not, 
As  the  reane  doys  in  the  stret. 

Jhesue  Christ  our  balys  bete, 

And  to  the  blys  ns  brynge  ! 

Thus  was  the  Hountynge  of  the  Chevyat : 

God  send  us  all  good  endyng. 


EDOM  O’  GORDON. 


83 


EDOM  O’  GORDON.)  ' 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmas, 

When  the  wind  blew  shrill  and  cauld, 
Said  Edom  o’  Gordon  to  his  men, 

“We  maun  draw  to  a hauld. 

“ And  whatna  hauld  sail  we  draw  to, 

My  merry  men  and  me  ? 

We  will  gae  to  the  house  o’  the  Rodes, 
To  see  that  fair  ladie.” 


The  ladie  stude  on  her  castle  wa’, 

Beheld  baith  dale  and  down, 

There  she  was  ware  of  a host  of  men 
Were  riding  towards  the  town. 

“ 0 see  ye  not,  my  merry  men  a’, 

0 see  ye  not  what  I see  ? 

Methinks  I see  a host  of  men  — 

1 marvel  what  they  be.” 

She  ween’d  it  had  been  her  ain  dear  lord 
As  he  cam’  riding  hame ; 

It  was  the  traitor,  Edom  o’  Gordon, 

Wha  recked  nor  sin  nor  shame. 


84 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION . 


She  had  nae  suner  buskit  hersell, 

Nor  putten  on  her  goun, 

Till  Edom  o’  Gordon  and  his  men 
Were  round  about  the  toun. 

They  had  nae  suner  supper  set, 

Nor  suner  said  the  grace, 

Till  Edom  o?  Gordon  and  his  men 
Weredight  about  the  place. 

The  ladie  ran  to  her  tower  head, 

As  fast  as  she  could  hie, 

To  see  if,  by  her  fair  speeches, 

She  could  with  him  agree. 

“ Come  doun  to  me,  ye  ladye  gay, 

Come  doun,  come  doun  to  me ; 

This  nicht  sail  ye  lie  within  my  arms, 
The  morn  my  bride  sail  be.” 

u I winna  come  doun,  ye  fause  Gordon, 

I winna  come  doun  to  thee ; 

I winna  forsake  my  ain  dear  lord, 
That  is  sae  far  frae  me.” 

“ Gie  owre  your  house,  ye  ladie  fair, 

Gie  owre  your  house  to  me ; 

Or  I sail  burn  yoursell  therein, 

But  and  your  babies  three.” 


EDOM  O’  GORDON. 


85 


“ I winna  gie  owre,  ye  false  Gordon, 

To  nae  sic  traitor  as  thee ; 

And  if  ye  burn  my  ain  dear  babes, 

My  lord  sail  mak’  ye  dree ! 

“But  reach  my  pistol,  Glaud,  my  man, 

And  charge  ye  weel  my  gun ; 

For,  but  an  I pierce  that  bludy  butcher, 

We  a’  sail  be  undone.” 

She  stude  upon  the  castle  wa’, 

And  let  twa  bullets  flee ; 

She  miss’d  that  bludy  butcher’s  heart, 

And  only  razed  his  knee. 

“ Set  fire  to  the  house  ! ” quo’  the  false  Gordon, 
All  wij.de  wi’  dule  and  ire ; 

“ False  ladie  ! ye  sail  rue  that  shot, 

As  ye  burn  in  the  fire.” 

“ Wae  worth,  wae  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man ! 

I paid  ye  weel  your  fee ; 

Why  pu’  ye  out  the  grund-wa-stane, 

Lets  in  the  reek  to  me  ? 

“ And  e’en  wae  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man ! 

I paid  ye  weel  your  hire ; 

Why  pu’  ye  out  my  grund-wa-stane, 

To  me  lets  in  the  fire  ? ” 


86 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


t 


“ Ye  paid  me  weel  my  hire,  lady, 

Ye  paid  me  weel  my  fee ; 

But  now  Pm  Edom  o’  Gordon’s  man, 
Maun  either  do  or  die.” 

0 then  bespake  her  youngest  son, 

Sat  on  the  nourice’  knee ; 

Says,  “ Mither  dear,  gie  owre  this  house, 
Eor  the  reek  it  smothers  me.” 

“ I wad  gie  a’  my  gowd,  my  bairn, 

Sae  wad  I a’  my  fee, 

Eor  ae  blast  o’  the  westlin’  wind, 

To  blaw  the  reek  frae  thee ! ” 

0 then  bespake  her  daughter  dear  — 

She  was  baith  jimp  and  sma’  — 

“ 0 row  me  in  a pair  o’  sheets, 

And  tow  me  owre  the  wa’.” 

They  rowed  her  in  a pair  o’  sheets, 

And  towed  her  owre  the  wa’ ; 

But  on  the  point  o’  Gordon’s  spear 
She  gat  a deadly  fa’. 

0 bonnie,  bonnie  was  her  mouth, 

And  cherry  were  her  cheeks ; 

And  clear,  clear  was  her  yellow  hair, 
Whereon  the  red  blude  dreeps. 


EDOM  O’  GORDON . 


87 


Then  wi’  his  spear  he  turned  her  owre, 

0 gin  her  face  was  wan ! 

He  said,  “ You  are  the  first  that  e’er 

1 wish’d  alive  again.” 

He  turned  her  owre  and  owre  again, 

0 gin  her  skin  was  white  ! 

“ I might  hae  spared  that  bonnie  face, 

To  hae  been  some  man’s  delight. 

“ Busk  and  boun,  my  merry  men  a’, 

For  ill  dooms  I do  guess ; 

I canna  look  on  that  bonnie  face, 

As  it  lies  on  the  grass  ! ” 

“ Wha  looks  to  freits,  my  master  deir, 

It’s  freits  will  follow  them ; 

Let  it  ne’er  be  said  that  Edom  o’  Gordon 
Was  dauntit  by  a dame.” 

But  when  the  lady  saw  the  fire 
Come  flaming  owre  her  head, 

She  wept,  and  kiss’d  her  children  twain, 
Says,  “ Bairns,  we  been  but  dead.” 

The  Gordon  then  his  bugle  blew, 

And  said,  “ Awa’,  awa’ ; 

The  house  o’  the  Bodes  is  a’  in  a flame, 

1 hold  it  time  to  ga\” 


88 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION . 


0 then  bespied  her  ain  dear  lord, 

As  he  came  owre  the  lee ; 

He  saw  his  castle  all  in  a lowe, 

Sae  far  as  he  could  see. 

“ Put  on,  put  on,  my  wichty  men, 

As  fast  as  ye  can  dri’e ; 

For  he  that  is  hindmost  of  the  thrang, 

Shall  ne’er  get  gude  o’  me  ! ” 

Then  some  they  rade,  and  some  they  ran, 
Fu’  fast  out-owre  the  bent ; 

But  ere  the  foremost  could  win  up, 

Baith  lady  and  babes  were  brent. 

He  wrang  his  hands,  he  rent  his  hair, 

And  wept  in  teenfu’  mood ; 

“ Ah,  traitors ! for  this  cruel  deed, 

Ye  shall  weep  tears  of  blude.” 

And  after  the  Gordon  he  has  gane, 

Sae  fast  as  he  might  dri’e, 

And  soon  i’  the  Gordon’s  foul  heart’s  blude, 
He’s  wroken  his  fair  ladle. 


KINMONT  WILLIE. 


89 


KINMONT  WILLIE. 

0 have  ye  na  heard  o’  the  fause  Sakelde  ? 

0 have  ye  na  heard  o’  the  keen  Lord  Scroope  ? 
How  they  hae  ta’en  bauld  Kinmont  Willie, 

On  Haribee  to  hang  him  up  ? 

Had  Willie  had  but  twenty  men, 

But  twenty  men  as  stout  as  he, 

Fause  Sakelde  had  never  the  Kinmont  ta?en, 

Wi?  eight  score  in  his  companie. 

They  band  his  legs  beneath  the  steed, 

They  tied  his  hands  behind  his  back ; 

They  guarded  him,  fivesome  on  each  side, 

And  they  brought  him  ower  the  Liddel-rack. 


They  led  him  thro*  the  Liddel-rack, 

And  also  thro’  the  Carlisle  sands  ; 

They  brought  him  on  to  Carlisle  castle, 
To  be  at  my  Lord  Seroope’s  commands. 


“ My  hands  are  tied,  but  my  tongue  is  free, 
And  wha  will  dare  this  deed  avow  ? 

Or  answer  by  the  Border  law  ? 

Or  answer  to  the  bauld  Buccleuch  ? ” 


I 


90  BALLADS  OF  TBADITIOX. 

“Xow  haud  thy  tongue,  thou  rank  reiver ! 

There’s  never  a Scot  shall  set  thee  free : 

Before  ye  cross  my  castle  yate 

I trow  ye  shall  take  farewell  o’  me.” 

“Fear  ye  na  that,  my  lord,”  quo’  Willie : 

“ By  the  faith  o’  my  body,  Lord  Scroope,”  he  said, 

“ I never  yet  lodged  in  a hostelrie, 

But  I paid  my  lawing  before  I gaed.” 

Kow  word  is  gane  to  the  bauld  keeper, 

In  Branksome  Ha’,  where  that  he  lay, 

That  Lord  Scroope  has  ta’en  the  Kinmont  Willie, 
Between  the  hours  of  night  and  day. 

He  has  ta’en  the  table  wi’  his  hand, 

He  garrd  the  red  wine  spring  on  hie, 

“ Xow  a curse  upon  my  head,”  he  said, 

“ But  avenged  of  Lord  Scroope  I’ll  be  ! 

“ 0 is  my  basnet  a widow’s  curch  ? 

Or  my  lance  a wand  of  the  willow-tree  ? 

Or  my  arm  a lady’s  lily  hand, 

That  an  English  lord  should  lightly  me  ? 

“ And  have  they  ta’en  him.  Kinmont  Willie, 

Against  the  truce  of  Border  tide, 

And  forgotten  that  the  bauld  Buccleuch 
Is  Keeper  here  on  the  Scottish  side  ? 


KIN  MO  NT  WILLIE . 


91 


u And  have  they  e’en  ta’en  him,  Kinmont  Willie, 
Withouten  either  dread  or  fear, 

And  forgotten  that  the  bauld  Buccleuch 
Can  back  a steed,  or  shake  a spear  ? 

“ 0 were  there  war  between  the  lands, 

As  well  I wot  that  there  is  nane, 

I would  slight  Carlisle  castle  high, 

Though  it  were  builded  of  marble  stane. 

“ I would  set  that  castle  in  a low, 

And  sloken  it  with  English  blood ! 

There’s  never  a man  in  Cumberland 
Should  ken  where  Carlisle  castle  stood. 

“ But  since  nae  war’s  between  the  lands, 

And  there  is  peace,  and  peace  should  be, 

I’ll  neither  harm  English  lad  or  lass, 

And  yet  the  Kinmont  freed  shall  be  ! ” 

He  has  called  him  forty  Marchmen  bauld, 

I trow  they  were  of  his  ain  name, 

Except  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot,  called 

The  Laird  of  Stobs,  I mean  the  same. 

He  has  called  him  forty  Marchmen  bauld, 

Were  kinsmen  to  the  bauld  Buccleuch  ; 

With  spur  on  heel,  and  splent  on  spauld, 

And  gluves  of  green,  and  feathers  blue. 


92 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION \ 


There  were  five  and  five  before  them  a’, 

Wi’  hunting  horns  and  bugles  bright : 

And  five  and  five  cam’  wi’  Buccleuch, 

Like  warden’s  men,  arrayed  for  fight. 

And  five  and  five,  like  masons  gang, 

That  carried  the  ladders  lang  and  hie ; 

And  five  and  five  like  broken  men ; 

And  so  they  reached  the  Woodhouselee. 

And  as  we  crossed  the  ’Bateable  Land, 

When  to  the  English  side  we  held, 

The  first  o’  men  that  we  met  wi’, 

Wha  sould  it  be  but  fause  Sakelde  ? 

“ Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  hunters  keen  ? ” 

Quo’  fause  Sakelde  ; “ come  tell  to  me  ! 99 

“We  go  to  hunt  an  English  stag, 

Has  trespassed  on  the  Scots  countrie.” 

“ Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  marshal  men  ? 99 

Quo’  fause  Sakelde  ; “ come  tell  me  true  ! 99 

“We  go  to  catch  a rank  reiver, 

Has  broken  faith  wi’  the  bauld  Buccleuch.” 

“ Where  are  ye  gaun,  ye  mason  lads, 

Wi’  a’  your  ladders  lang  and  hie  ? 99 

“We  gang  to  herry  a corbie’s  nest, 

That  wons  not  far  frae  Woodhouselee.” 


KINMONT  WILLIE. 


93 


“ Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  broken  men  ? ” 

Quo’  fause  Sakelde  ; “ come  tell  to  me  ! 99 

Now  Dickie  of  Dryhope  led  that  band, 

And  the  nevir  a word  of  lear  had  he. 

“ Why  trespass  ye  on  the  English  side  ? 

Row-footed  outlaws,  stand  ! ” quo’  he  ; 

The  nevir  a word  had  Dickie  to  say, 

Sae  he  thrust  the  lance  through  his  fause  bodie. 

Then  on  we  held  for  Carlisle  toun, 

And  at  Staneshaw-bank  the  Eden  we  crossed, 

The  water  was  great  and  meikle  of  spait, 

But  the  never  a horse  nor  man  we  lost. 

And  when  we  reached  the  Staneshaw-bank, 

The  wind  was  rising  loud  and  hie  ; 

And  there  the  Laird  garr’d  leave  our  steeds, 

For  fear  that  they  should  stamp  and  neigh. 

And  when  we  left  the  Staneshaw-bank, 

The  wind  began  full  loud  to  blaw ; 

But  ’twas  wind  and  weet,  and  fire  and  sleet, 

When  we  cam’  beneath  the  castle  wa’. 

We  crept  on  knees,  and  held  our  breath, 

Till  we  placed  the  ladders  agin  the  wa’ ; 

And  sae  ready  was  Buccleuch  himsell 
To  mount  the  first  before  us  a’. 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


He  has  ta’en  the  watchman  by  the  throat, 

He  flung  him  down  upon  the  lead  : 

“Had  there  not  been  peace  between  our-lands. 
Upon  the  other  side  thou  hadst  gaed  ! 

“Now  sound  out,  trumpets  !”  quo’  Buccleuch 
“ Let’s  waken  Lord  Scroope  right  merrilie 

Then  loud  the  warden’s  trumpet  blew  — 

O wha  dare  meddle  wV  me  ? 

Then  speedilie  to  wark  we  gaed, 

And  raised  the  slogan  ane  and  a’, 

And  cut  a hole  through  a sheet  of  lead, 

And  so  we  wan  to  the  castle  ha’. 

They  thought  King  James  and  a’  his  men 
Had  won  the  house  wi’  bow  and  spear ; 

It  was  but  twenty  Scots  and  ten, 

That  put  a thousand  in  sic  a stear  ! 

Wi’  coulters,  and  wi’  forehammers, 

We  garr’d  the  bars  bang  merrilie, 

Until  we  cam’  to  the  inner  prison, 

Where  Willie  o’  Kinmont  he  did  lie. 

And  when  we  cam’  to  the  lower  prison, 
Where  Willie  o’  Kinmont  he  did  lie,  — 

“ 0 sleep  ye,  wake  ye,  Kinmont  Willie, 

Upon  the  morn  that  thou’s  to  die  ? ” 


KINMONT  WILLIE. 


95 


“01  sleep  saft,  and  I wake  aft ; 

It’s  lang  since  sleeping  was  fley’d  frae  me  ; 

Gie  my  service  back  to  my  wife  and  bairns, 
And  a’  gude  fellows  that  spier  for  me.” 

Then  Eed  Eowan  has  hente  him  up, 

The  starkest  man  in  Teviotdale,  — 

“ Abide,  abide  now,  Eed  Eowan, 

Till  of  my  Lord  Scroope  I tak’  farewell. 

“ Farewell,  farewell,  my  gude  Lord  Scroope  ! 

My  gude  Lord  Scroope,  farewell ! ” he  cried  : 

“ I’ll  pay  you  for  my  lodging  maill, 

When  first  we  meet  on  the  Border  side.” 

Then  shoulder  high,  with  shout  and  cry, 

We  bore  him  doun  the  ladder  lang ; 

At  every  stride  Eed  Eowan  made, 

I wot  the  Kinmont’s  aims  played  clang 

“ 0 mony  a time,”  quo’  Kinmont  Willie, 

“ I have  ridden  horse  baith  wild  and  wood  ; 

But  a rougher  beast  than  Eed  Eowan 
I ween  my  legs  have  ne’er  bestrode. 

“ And  mony  a time,”  quo’  Kinmont  Willie, 

I’ve  pricked  a horse  out  oure  the  furs  ; 

But  since  the  day  I backed  a steed, 

I never  wore  sic  cumbrous  spurs.” 


96 


BALLADS  OF  TBADITION. 


We  scarce  had  won  the  Staneshaw-bank, 
When  a’  the  Carlisle  bells  were  rung, 

And  a thousand  men  on  horse  and  foot 
Cam’  wi’  the  keen  Lord  Scroope  along. 

Buecleuch  has  turned  to  Eden  Water, 

Even  where  it  flowed  frae  bank  to  brim, 

And  he  has  plunged  in  wi’  a’  his  band, 

And  safely  swam  them  through  the  stream. 

He  turned  him  on  the  other  side, 

And  at  Lord  Scroope  his  glove  flung  he : 

“ If  ye  like  na  my  visit  in  merry  England, 

In  fair  Scotland  come  visit  me  ! ” 

All  sore  astonished  stood  Lord  Scroope, 

He  stood  as  still  as  rock  of  stane ; 

He  scarcely  dared  to  trew  his  eyes, 

When  through  the  water  they  had  gane. 

“ He  is  either  himsell  a devil  frae  hell, 

Or  else  his  mither  a witch  maun  be ; 

I wadna  hae  ridden  that  wan  water 
For  a’  the  gowd  in  Christentie.” 


KING  JOHN  AND  THE  ABBOT  OF  CANTERBURY.  97 


KING  JOHN  AND  THE  ABBOT  OF 
CANTERBURY. 

An  ancient  story  lie  tell  yon  anon 

Of  a notable  prince,  that  was  called  King  John; 

He  ruled  over  England  with  maine  and  with  might, 
For  he  did  great  wrong,  and  mainteined  little  right. 

And  lie  tell  you  a story,  a story  so  merrye, 
Concerning  the  Abbot  of  Canterburye ; 

How  for  his  housekeeping  and  high  renowne, 

They  rode  poste  for  him  to  fair  London  towne. 

A hundred  men,  for  the  king  did  hear  say, 

The  abbot  kept  in  his  house  every  day ; 

And  fifty  golde  chaynes,  without  any  doubt, 

In  velvet  coates  waited  the  abbot  about. 

u How  now,  father  abbot  ? I heare  it  of  thee, 

Thou  keepest  a farre  better  house  than  mee  ; 

And  for  thy  housekeeping  and  high  renowne, 

I feare  thou  work’st  treason  against  my  crown.” 

“ My  liege,”  quo’  the  abbot,  ((I  would  it  were  knowne, 
I never  spend  nothing  but  what  is  my  owne ; 

And  I trust  your  grace  will  doe  me  no  deere, 

For  spending  of  my  owne  true-gotten  geere.” 


98 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


“ Yes,  yes,  father  abbot,  thy  faulte  it  is  highe, 

And  now  for  the  same  thou  needest  must  dye ; 

And  except  thou  canst  answer  me  questions  three, 
Thy  head  shall  be  smitten  from  thy  bodie. 

“ And  first/’  quo’  the  king,  “ when  I’m  in  this  stead, 
With  my  crown  of  golde  so  faire  on  my  head, 
Among  all  my  liegemen  so  noble  of  birthe, 

Thou  must  tell  to  one  penny  what  I am  worthe. 

u Secondlye,  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 

How  soon  I may  ride  the  whole  world  about ; 

And  at  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrink, 
But  tell  me  here  truly,  what  I do  think  ? ” 

“ 0,  these  are  deep  questions  for  my  shallow  witt, 
Nor  I cannot  answer  your  grace  as  yet : 

But  if  you  will  give  me  but  three  weekes  space, 

I’ll  do  my  endeavor  to  answer  your  grace.” 

“ Now  three  weekes  space  to  thee  will  I give, 

And  that  is  the  longest  thou  hast  to  live ; 

For  unless  thou  answer  my  questions  three, 

Thy  life  and  thy  lands  are  forfeit  to  mee.” 

Away  rode  the  abbot  all  sad  at  this  word ; 

And  he  rode  to  Cambridge  and  Oxenford ; 

But  never  a doctor  there  was  so  wise, 

That  could  with  his  learning  an  answer  devise. 


KING  JOHN  AND  THE  ABBOT  OF  CANTERBURY.  99 

Then  home  rode  the  Abbot  of  comfort  so  cold, 

And  he  mett  his  shepheard  a going  to  fold : 

“ How  now,  my  lord  abbot,  you  are  welcome  home ; 
What  newes  do  you  bring  us  from  good  king  J ohn  ? ” 

“ Sad  newes,  sad  newes,  shepheard,  I must  give ; 

That  I have  but  three  days  more  to  live ; 

For  if  I do  not  answer  him  questions  three, 

My  head  will  be  smitten  from  my  bodie. 

“ The  first  is  to  tell  him,  there  in  that  stead, 

With  his  crowne  of  golde  so  fair  on  his  head, 
Among  all  his  liege  men  so  noble  of  birth, 

To  within  one  penny  of  what  he  is  worth. 

“The  seconde,  to  tell  him,  without  any  doubt, 

How  soone  he  may  ride  this  whole  world  about ; 
And  at  the  third  question  I must  not  shrinke, 

But  tell  him  there  trulye  what  he  does  thinke.” 

“ Now  cheare  up,  sire  abbot,  did  you  never  hear  yet, 
That  a fool  he  may  learne  a wise  man  witt  ? 

Lend  me  horse,  and  serving  men,  and  your  apparel, 
And  lie  ride  to  London  to  answere  your  quarrel. 

“ Nay  frowne  not,  if  it  hath  bin  told  unto  mee, 

I am  like  your  lordship,  as  ever  may  bee ; 

And  if  you  will  but  lend  me  your  gowne, 

There  is  none  shall  knowe  us  at  fair  London  towne.” 


100 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


“ Now  horses  and  serving  men  thou  shalt  have, 

With  sumptuous  array  most  gallant  and  brave ; 
With  crosier,  and  miter,  and  rochet,  and  cope, 

Fit  to  appear  ’fore  our  fader  the  pope.” 

“ Now  welcome,  sire  abbot,”  the  king  he  did  say, 

“ ’Tis  well  thou’rt  come  back  to  keepe  thy  day ; 

For  and  if  thou  canst  answer  my  questions  three, 
Thy  life  and  thy  living  both  saved  shall  bee. 

“ And  first,  when  thou  seest  me  here  in  this  stead, 
With  my  crown  of  golde  so  faire  on  my  head, 
Among  all  my  liege  men  so  noble  of  birthe, 

Tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I am  worth.” 

“For  thirty  pence  our  Savior  was  sold 
Amonge  the  false  Jewes,  as  I have  bin  told; 

And  twenty-nine  is  the  worth  of  thee, 

For  I thinke,  thou  art  one  penny  worser  than  hee.” 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Bittel, 

“ I did  not  think  I had  been  worth  so  littel ! 

— Now  secondly  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 

How  soone  I may  ride  this  whole  world  about.” 

“ You  must  rise  with  the  sun,  and  ride  with  the  same, 
Until  the  next  morning  he  riseth  againe ; 

And  then  your  grace  need  not  make  any  doubt, 

But  in  twenty-four  hours  you’ll  ride  it  about.” 


ROBIN  HOOD  RESCUING  THE  WIDOW’S  SONS.  101 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  “ by  St.  J one, 

I did  not  think  it  could  be  gone  so  soone ! 

— Now  from  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrinke, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I do  thinke.” 

“ Yea,  that  shall  I do,  and  make  your  grace  merry : 

You  thinke  Fm  the  abbot  of  Canterbury ; 

But  Fm  his  poor  shepheard,  as  plain  you  may  see, 
That  am  come  to  beg  pardon  for  him  and  for  mee.” 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  “by  the  masse, 

He  make  thee  lord  abbot  this  day  in  his  place ! ” 

“ Now  naye,  my  liege,  be  not  in  such  speede ; 

For  alacke  I can  neither  write  ne  reade.” 

“ Four  nobles  a week,  then,  I will  give  thee, 

For  this  merry  jest  thou  hast  shown  unto  mee; 

And  tell  the  old  abbot,  when  thou  comest  home, 

Thou  hast  brought  him  a pardon  from  good  king  John.” 


ROBIN  HOOD  RESCUING  THE  WIDOW’S 
THREE  SONS. 

There  are  twelve  months  in  all  the  year, 

As  I hear  many  say, 

But  the  merriest  month  in  all  the  year 
Is  the  merry  month  of  May. 

Now  Robin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone, 

With  a link  a down  and  a day , 

And  there  he  met  a silly  old  woman, 

Was  weeping  on  the  way. 


102 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION . 


“ What  news  ? what  news,  thou  silly  old  woman  ? 

What  news  hast  thou  for  me  ? ” 

Said  she,  “ There’s  my  three  sons  in  Nottingham  town 
To-day  condemned  to  die.” 

“ 0,  have  they  parishes  burnt  ? ” he  said, 

“ Or  have  they  ministers  slain  ? 

Or  have  they  robbed  any  virgin  ? 

Or  other  men’s  wives  have  ta’en  ? 99 

“ They  have  no  parishes  burnt,  good  sir, 

Nor  yet  have  ministers  slain, 

Nor  have  they  robbed  any  virgin, 

Nor  other  men’s  wives  have  ta’en.” 

“ 0,  what  have  they  done  ? ” said  Eobin  Hood, 

“ I pray  thee  tell  to  me.” 

“ It’s  for  slaying  of  the  king’s  fallow-deer, 

Bearing  their  long  bows  with  thee.” 

"Dost  thou  not  mind,  old  woman,”  he  said, 

“ How  thou  madest  me  sup  and  dine  ? 

By  the  truth  of  my  body,”  quoth  bold  Eobin  Hood, 
"You  could  not  tell  it  in  better  time.” 

Now  Eobin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone, 

With  a link  a down  and  a day , 

And  there  he  met  with  a silly  old  palmer, 

Was  walking  along  the  highway. 


ROBIN  HOOD  RESCUING  THE  WIDOW’S  SONS.  103 


“ What  news  ? what  news,  thou  silly  old  man  ? 
What  news,  I do  thee  pray  ? ” 

Said  he,  “ Three  squires  in  Nottingham  town 
Are  condemned  to  die  this  day.” 

“ Come  change  thy  apparel  with  me,  old  man, 
Come  change  thy  apparel  for  mine ; 

Here  is  forty  shillings  in  good  silver, 

Go  drink  it  in  beer  or  wine.” 

“ 0,  thine  apparel  is  good,”  he  said, 

“ And  mine  is  ragged  and  torn  ; 

Wherever  you  go,  wherever  you  ride, 

Laugh  ne’er  an  old  man  to  scorn.” 

“ Come  change  thy  apparel  with  me,  old  churl, 
Come  change  thy  apparel  with  mine  ; 

Here  are  twenty  pieces  of  good  broad  gold, 

Go  feast  thy  brethren  with  wine.” 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man’s  hat, 

It  stood  full  high  on  the  crown  : 

“ The  first  bold  bargain  that  I come  at, 

It  shall  make  thee  come  down.” 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man’s  cloak, 

Was  patched  black,  blew,  and  red ; 

He  thought  it  no  shame  all  the  day  long, 

To  wear  the  bags  of  bread. 


104 


BALLADS  OF  TBADITION . 


Then  he  put  on  the  old  man’s  breeks, 

Was  patched  from  leg  to  side  : 

“ By  the  truth  of  my  body/’  bold  Robin  can  say, 
“This  man  loved  little  pride.” 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man’s  hose, 

Were  patched  from  knee  to  wrist : 

“ By  the  truth  of  my  body,”  said  bold  Robin  Hood, 
“ I’d  laugh  if  I had  any  list.” 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man’s  shoes, 

Were  patched  both  beneath  and  aboon ; 

Then  Robin  Hood  swore  a solemn  oath, 

“ It’s  good  habit  that  makes  a man.” 

Now  Robin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone, 

With  a link  a down  and  a down , 

And  there  he  met  with  the  proud  sheriff, 

Was  walking  along  the  town. 

“ 0 Christ  you  save,  0 sheriff  ! ” he  said ; 

“ 0 Christ  you  save  and  see  ! 

And  what  will  you  give  to  a silly  old  man 
To-day  will  your  hangman  be  ? ” 

“ Some  suits,  some  suits,”  the  sheriff  he  said, 

“ Some  suits  I’ll  give  to  thee  ; 

Some  suits,  some  suits,  and  pence  thirteen, 
To-day’s  a hangman’s  fee.” 


EOBIN  HOOD  BESCUim  THE  WIDOW’S  SONS.  105 


Then  Eobin  he  turns  him  round  about, 

And  jumps  from  stock  to  stone  : 

“ By  the  truth  of  my  body,”  the  sheriff  he  said, 
“ That’s  well  jumpt,  thou  nimble  old  man.” 

" I was  ne’er  a hangman  in  all  my  life, 

Nor  yet  intends  to  trade  ; 

But  curst  be  he,”  said  bold  Eobin, 

“ That  first  a hangman  was  made  ! 

“ I’ve  a bag  for  meal,  and  a bag  for  malt, 

And  a bag  for  barley  and  corn ; 

A bag  for  bread,  and  a bag  for  beef, 

And  a bag  for  my  little  small  horn. 

“ I have  a horn  in  my  pocket, 

I got  it  from  Eobin  Hood, 

And  still  when  I set  it  to  my  mouth, 

For  thee  it  blows  little  good.” 

“ 0,  wind  thy  horn,  thou  proud  fellow, 

Of  thee  I have  no  doubt. 

I wish  that  thou  give  such  a blast, 

Till  both  thy  eyes  fall  out.” 

The  first  loud  blast  that  he  did  blow, 

He  blew  both  loud  and  shrill ; 

A hundred  and  fifty  of  Eobin  Hood’s  men 
Came  riding  over  the  hill. 


106 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


The  next  loud  blast  that  he  did  give, 

He  blew  both  loud  and  amain, 

And  quickly  sixty  of  Eobin  Hood’s  men 
Came  shining  over  the  plain. 

“ 0,  who  are  these,”  the  sheriff  he  said, 

“ Come  tripping  over  the  lee  ? ” 

“ They’re  my  attendants,”  brave  Eobin  did  say 
“ They’ll  pay  a visit  to  thee.” 

They  took  the  gallows  from  the  slack, 

They  set  it  in  the  glen, 

They  hanged  the  proud  sheriff  on  that, 
Eeleased  their  own  three  men. 


EOBIN  HOOD  AND  ALLIN  A DALE. 

Come  listen  to  me,  you  gallants  so  free, 

All  you  that  love  mirth  for  to  hear, 

And  I will  tell  you  of  a bold  outlaw, 

That  lived  in  Nottinghamshire. 

As  Eobin  Hood  in  the  forest  stood, 

All  under  the  green-wood  tree, 

There  he  was  aware  of  a brave  young  man, 
As  fine  as  fine  might  be. 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND  ALLIN  A DALE. 


The  youngster  was  cloathed  in  scarlet  red. 
In  scarlet  fine  and  gay ; 

And  he  did  frisk  it  over  the  plain, 

And  chanted  a roundelay. 

As  Eobin  Hood  next  morning  stood, 
Amongst  the  leaves  so  gay, 

There  did  he  espy  the  same  young  man 
Come  drooping  along  the  way. 

The  scarlet  he  wore  the  day  before, 

It  was  clean  cast  away ; 

And  at  every  step  he  fetcht  a sigh, 

“ Alack  and  a well  a day  ! ” 

Then  stepped  forth  brave  Little  John, 

And  Midge  the  miller’s  son, 

Which  made  the  young  man  bend  his  bow, 
When  as  he  see  them  come. 

“ Stand  off,  stand  off,”  the  young  man  said, 

“ What  is  your  will  with  me  ? ” 

“ You  must  come  before  our  master  straight, 
Under  yon  green-wood  tree.” 

And  when  he  came  bold  Eobin  before, 
Eobin  askt  him  courteously, 

“0  hast  thou  any  money  to  spare 
For  my  merry  men  and  me  ? ” 


108 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


“ I have  no  money,”  the  young  man  said, 

“ But  five  shillings  and  a ring ; 

And  that  I have  kept  this  seven  long  years, 

To  have  it  at  my  wedding. 

“Yesterday  I should  have  married  a maid, 

But  she  is  now  from  me  tane, 

And  chosen  to  be  an  old  knight’s  delight, 

Whereby  my  poor  heart  is  slain.” 

“What  is  thy  name?”  then  said  Robin  Hood, 

“ Come  tell  me,  without  any  fail : ” 

“ By  the  faith  of  my  body,”  then  said  the  young  man, 
“ My  name  it  is  Allin  a Dale.” 

“ What  wilt  thou  give  me,”  said  Robin  Hood, 

“ In  ready  gold  or  fee, 

To  help  thee  to  thy  true  love  again, 

And  deliver  her  unto  thee  ? ” 

“I  have  no  money,”  then  quoth  the  young  man, 

“ No  ready  gold  nor  fee, 

But  I will  swear  upon  a book 
Thy  true  servant  for  to  be.” 

“ How  many  miles  is  it  to  thy  true  love  ? 

Come  tell  me  without  any  guile : ” 

“ By  the  faith  of  my  body,”  then  said  the  young  man, 
“ It  is  but  five  little  mile.” 


ROBIN’  HOOD  AND  ALLIN  A DALE.  109 

Then  Robin  he  hasted  over  the  plain, 

He  did  neither  stint  nor  lin, 

Until  he  came  unto  the  church, 

Where  Allin  should  keep  his  wedding. 

“ What  hast  thou  here  ? ” the  bishop  he  said, 

“ I prithee  now  tell  unto  me  : ” 

“ I am  a bold  harper,”  quoth  Robin  Hood, 

“ And  the  best  in  the  north  country.” 

“ 0 welcome,  0 welcome,”  the  bishop  he  said, 

“ That  musick  best  pleaseth  me  ; ” 

“ You  shall  have  no  musick,”  quoth  Robin  Hood, 

“ Till  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom  I see.” 

With  that  came  in  a wealthy  knight, 

Which  was  both  grave  and  old, 

And  after  him  a finikin  lass, 

Did  shine  like  the  glistering  gold. 

" This  is  not  a fit  match,”  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood, 
“ That  you  do  seem  to  make  here ; 

For  since  we  are  come  into  the  church, 

The  bride  shall  chuse  her  own  dear.” 

Then  Robin  Hood  put  his  horn  to  his  mouth, 

And  blew  blasts  two  or  three ; 

When  four  and  twenty  bowmen  bold 
Came  leaping  over  the  lee. 


no 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION . 


And  when  they  came  into  the  church-yard, 
Marching  all  on  a row, 

The  first  man  was  Allin  a Dale, 

To  give  bold  Eobin  his  bow. 

“ This  is  thy  true  love,”  Eobin  he  said, 

“Young  Mlin,  as  I hear  say; 

And  you  shall  be  married  at  this  same  time, 
Before  we  depart  away.” 

“ That  shall  not  be,”  the  bishop  he  said, 

“ For  thy  word  shall  not  stand ; 

They  shall  be  three  times  askt  in  the  church, 

As  the  law  is  of  our  land.” 

Eobin  Hood  pulld  off  the  bishop’s  coat. 

And  put  it  upon  Little  J ohn ; 

“ By  the  faith  of  my  body,”  then  Eobin  said, 

“ This  cloath  does  make  thee  a man.” 

When  Little  John  went  into  the  quire, 

The  people  began  for  to  laugh ; 

He  askt  them  seven  times  in  the  church, 

Lest  three  times  should  not  be  enough. 

“ Who  gives  me  this  maid  ? ” then  said  Little  John 
Quoth  Eobin  Hood,  “ That  do  I, 

And  he  that  takes  her  from  Allin  a Dale 
Full  dearly  he  shall  her  buy.” 


ROBIN  HOOD’S  DEATH  AND  BURIAL.  Ill 


And  thus  having  ende  of  this  merry  wedding, 
The  bride  lookt  like  a queen, 

And  so  they  returned  to  the  merry  green-wood, 
Amongst  the  leaves  so  green. 


ROBUST  HOOD’S  DEATH  AND  BURIAL. 

When  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John, 

Down  a down , a down , a down , 

Went  o’er  yon  bank  of  broom, 

Said  Robin  Hood  to  Little  John, 

“ We  have  shot  for  many  a pound : ” 

Hey  down , a down , a down . 

u But  I am  not  able  to  shoot  one  shot  more, 
My  arrows  will  not  flee  ; 

But  I have  a cousin  lives  down  below, 

Please  God,  she  will  bleed  me.” 

Now  Robin  is  to  fair  Kirkley  gone, 

As  fast  as  he  can  win ; 

But  before  he  came  there,  as  we  do  hear, 

He  was  taken  very  ill. 

And  when  that  he  came  to  fair  Kirkley-hall, 
He  knocked  all  at  the  ring, 

But  none  was  so  ready  as  his  cousin  herself 
For  to  let  bold  Robin  in. 


112 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION. 


“ Will  you  please  to  sit  down,  cousin  Robin,”  she  said, 
“ And  drink  some  beer  with  me  ? ” 

“No,  I will  neither  eat  nor  drink, 

Till  I am  blooded  by  thee.” 

“Well,  I have  a room,  cousin  Robin,”  she  said, 

“ Which  you  did  never  see, 

And  if  you  please  to  walk  therein, 

You  blooded  by  me  shall  be.” 

She  took  him  by  the  lily-white  hand, 

And  led  him  to  a private  room, 

And  there  she  blooded  bold  Robin  Hood, 

Whilst  one  drop  of  blood  would  run. 

She  blooded  him  in  the  vein  of  the  arm, 

And  locked  him  up  in  the  room  ; 

There  did  he  bleed  all  the  livelong  day, 

Untilt  the  next  day  at  noon. 

He  then  bethought  him  of  a casement  door, 
Thinking  for  to  be  gone  ; 

He  was  so  weak  he  could  not  leap, 

Nor  he  could  not  get  down. 

He  then  bethought  him  of  his  bugle-horn, 

Which  hung  low  down  to  his  knee  ; 

He  set  his  horn  unto  his  mouth, 

And  blew  out  weak  blasts  three. 


ROBIN  HOOD’S  DEATH  AND  BURIAL . 113 


Then  Little  John,  when  hearing  him, 

As  he  sat  under  the  tree, 

“ I fear  my  master  is  near  dead, 

He  blows  so  wearily.” 

Then  Little  J ohn  to  fair  Kirkley  is  gone, 
As  fast  as  he  can  dri’e ; 

But  when  he  came  to  Kirkley-hall, 

He  broke  locks  two  or  three  : 

Untilt  he  came  bold  Robin  to, 

Then  he  fell  on  his  knee  : 

“ A boon,  a boon,”  cries  Little  John, 

“ Master,  I beg  of  thee.” 

“What  is  that  boon,”  quoth  Robin  Hood, 
“Little  John,  thou  begs  of  me  ? ” 

“ It  is  to  burn  fair  Kirkley-hall, 

And  all  their  nunnery.” 

“ Now  nay,  now  nay,”  quoth  Robin  Hood, 

“ That  boon  I’ll  not  grant  thee  ; 

I never  hurt  woman  in  all  my  life, 

Nor  man  in  woman’s  company. 

“ I never  hurt  fair  maid  in  all  my  time, 
Nor  at  my  end  shall  it  be ; 

But  give  me  my  bent  bow  in  my  hand, 
And  a broad  arrow  I’ll  let  flee  ; 

And  where  this  arrow  is  taken  up, 

There  shall  my  grave  digg’d  be. 


BALLADS  OF  TRADITION . 


“ Lay  me  a green  so<J  under  my  head, 

And  another  at  my  feet ; 

And  lay  my  bent  bow  by  my  side, 

Which  was  my  music  sweet ; 

And  make  my  grave  of  gravel  and  green, 
Which  is  most  right  and  meet. 

<(  Let  me  have  length  and  breadth  enough, 
With  under  my  head  a green  sod ; 

That  they  may  say,  when  I am  dead, 
Here  lies  bold  Eobin  Hood.” 

These  words  they  readily  promised  him, 
Which  did  bold  Eobin  please ; 

And  there  they  buried  bold  Eobin  Hood, 
Hear  to  the  fair  Kirkleys. 


ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


ANNIE  OF  LOCHEOYAN. 

“ 0 wha  will  shoe  my  bonny  feet  ? 

Or  wha  will  glove  my  hand  ? 

Or  wha  will  lace  my  middle  jimp, 

Wi’  a new-made  London  band  ? 

“And  wha  will  kame  my  yellow  hair, 

Wi’  a new-made  siller  kame  ? 

And  wha  will  be  my  bairn’s  father, 

Till  love  Gregory  come  hame  ? ” 

“Your  father’ll  shoe  your  bonny  feet, 
Your  mother  glove  your  hand  ; 

Your  sister  lace  your  middle  jimp, 

Wi’  a new-made  London  band ; 

“Mysel’  will  kame  your  yellow  hair 
Wi’  a new-made  siller  kame  ; 

And  the  Lord  will  be  the  bairn’s  father 
Till  Gregory  come  hame.” 

“ 0 gin  I had  a bonny  ship, 

And  men  to  sail  wi’  me, 

It’s  I wad  gang  to  my  true  love, 

Sin’  he  winna  come  to  me  ! ” 


118  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


Her  father’s  gi’en  her  a bonny  ship, 

And  sent  her  to  the  strand ; 

She’s  ta’en  her  yonng  son  in  her  arms, 

And  turn’d  her  back  to  land. 

She  hadna  been  on  the  sea  sailing, 

About  a month  or  more, 

Till  landed  has  she  her  bonny  ship, 

Hear  to  her  true  love’s  door. 

The  night  was  dark,  an’  the  wind  was  cauld, 
And  her  love  was  fast  asleep, 

And  the  bairn  that  was  in  her  twa  arms, 

Fu’  sair  began  to  greet. 

Lang  stood  she  at  her  true  love’s  door, 

And  lang  tirl’d  at  the  pin  ; 

At  length  up  gat  his  fause  mother, 

Says,  “ Wha’s  that  wad  be  in  ? ” 

“ 0 it  is  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

Your  love,  come  o’er  the  sea, 

But  and  your  young  son  in  her  arms, 

Sae  open  the  door  to  me.” 

“Awa,  awa,  ye  ill  woman, 

Ye’re  nae  come  here  for  gude ; 

Ye’re  but  a witch,  or  a vile  warlock, 

Or  mermaiden  o’  the  flood  ! ” 


ANNIE  OF  LOCHROYAN. 


119 


66  Fm  nae  a witch,  nor  vile  warlock, 

Nor  mermaiden,”  said  she  ; 

“ But  I am  Annie  of  Lochroyan ; 

0 open  the  door  to  me  ! ” 

“ 0 gin  ye  be  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

As  I trow  not  you  be, 

Now  tell  me  some  o’  the  love-tokens 
That  pass’d  ’tween  thee  and  me.” 

“ 0 dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregory, 

When  we  sate  at  the  wine, 

How  we  chang’d  the  napkins  frae  our  necks, 
It’s  no  sae  lang  sinsyne  ? 

“ And  yours  was  gude,  and  gude  eneugh, 

But  nae  sae  gude  as  mine ; 

For  yours  was  o’  the  cambrick  clear, 

But  mine  o’  the  silk  sae  fine. 

“ And  dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregory, 

As  we  twa  sate  at  dine, 

How  we  chang’d  the  rings  frae  our  fingers, 
And  I can  show  thee  thine  ? 

“ And  yours  was  gude,  and  gude  eneugh, 

Yet  nae  sae  gude  as  mine ; 

For  yours  was  o’  the  gude  red  gold, 

But  mine  o’  the  diamonds  fine. 


120  BOMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


“ Sae  open  the  door,  love  Gregory, 

And  open  it  wi’  speed ; 

Or  your  young  son,  that  is  in  my  arms, 
For  cauld  will  soon  be  dead  ! ” 

“Awa,  awa,  ye  ill  woman, 

Gae  frae  my  door  for  shame  ; 

For  I hae  gotten  anither  fair  love, 

Sae  ye  may  hie  ye  hame  ! ” 

“ 0 hae  ye  gotten  anither  fair  love, 

For  a?  the  oaths  ye  sware  ? 

Then  fare  ye  weel,  fause  Gregory, 

For  me  ye’se  never  see  mair  ! ” 

O hooly,  hooly  gaed  she  back, 

As  the  day  began  to  peep ; 

She  set  her  foot  on  gude  ship  board, 
And  sair,  sair  did  she  weep. 

“ Tak  down,  tak  down  that  mast  o’  gowd, 
Set  up  the  mast  o’  tree ; 

111  sets  it  a forsaken  lady 
To  sail  sae  gallantlie ! ” 

Love  Gregory  started  frae  his  sleep, 
And  to  his  mother  did  say ; 

“ I dream’d  a dream  this  night,  mither, 
That  maks  my  heart  right  wae. 


ANNIE  OF  LOCHROYAN. 


121 


“ I dream’d  that  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

The  flower  of  a’  her  kin, 

Was  standing  mournin’  at  my  door, 

But  nane  wad  let  her  in.” 

u Gin  it  be  for  Annie  of  Lochroyan, 

That  ye  mak  a’  this  din ; 

She  stood  a’  last  night  at  your  door, 

But  I trow  she  wan  na  in  ! ” 

" 0 wae  betide  ye,  ill  woman ! 

An  ill  deid  may  ye  die, 

That  wadna  open  the  door  to  her, 

Nor  yet  wad  waken  me  ! ” 

0 quickly,  quickly  raise  he  up, 

And  fast  ran  to  the  strand ; 

And  then  he  saw  her,  fair  Annie, 

Was  sailing  frae  the  land. 

And  it’s  “ Hey  Annie  ! ” and  “ How  Annie  ! 

O Annie,  winna  ye  bide  ? ” 

But  aye  the  mair  that  he  cried  “ Annie  ! ” 
The  faster  ran  the  tide. 

And  it’s  “ Hey  Annie  ! ” and  “ How  Annie  l 
0 Annie,  speak  to  me  ! ” 

But  aye  the  louder  that  he  cried  “Annie  ! ” 
The  higher  raise  the  sea. 


122  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


The  wind  grew  loud,  and  the  sea  grew  rough, 
And  the  ship  was  rent  in  twain ; 

And  soon  he  saw  her,  fair  Annie, 

Come  floating  through  the  faem. 

He  saw  his  young  son  in  her  arms, 

Baith  toss’d  abune  the  tide  ; 

He  wrang  his  hands,  and  fast  he  ran, 

And  plunged  in  the  sea  sae  wide. 

He  catch’ d her  by  the  yellow  hair, 

And  drew  her  to  the  strand ; 

But  cauld  and  stiff  was  every  limb, 

Afore  he  reach’d  the  land. 

0 first  he  kiss’d  her  cherry  cheek, 

And  syne  he  kiss’d  her  chin, 

And  sair  he  kiss’d  her  bonny  lips, 

But  there  was  nae  breath  within. 

And  he  has  mourn’d  o’er  fair  Annie, 

Till  the  sun  was  ganging  down, 

Syne  wi’  a sigh  his  heart  it  brast, 

And  his  soul  to  heaven  has  flown. 


LORD  THOMAS  AND  FAIR  ANNET. 


123 


LORD  THOMAS  AND  FAIR  ANNET. 

Lord  Thomas  and  fair  Annet 
Sat  a’  day  on  a hill, 

When  night  was  come,  and  the  sun  was  set, 
They  had  na  talk’d  their  fill. 

Lord  Thomas  said  a word  in  jest, 

Fair  Annet  took  it  ill ; 

“01  will  never  wed  a wife, 

Against  my  ain  friends’  will.” 

“ Gif  ye  will  never  wed  a wife, 

A wife  will  ne’er  wed  ye.” 

Sae  he  is  hame  to  tell  his  mither, 

And  kneel’d  upon  his  knee. 

“0  rede,  0 rede,  mither,”  he  says, 

“ A gude  rede  gie  to  me ; 

0 sail  I tak’  the  nut-brown  bride, 

And  let  fair  Annet  be  ? ” 

“ The  nut-brown  bride  has  gowd  and  gear, 
Fair  Annet  she’s  gat  nane, 

And  the  little  beauty  fair  Annet  has, 

0 it  will  soon  be  gane.” 


124  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


And  he  has  to  his  brither  gane ; 

“Now,  brither,  rede  ye  me, 

0 sail  I marry  the  nut-brown  bride, 

And  let  fair  Annet  be  ? ” 

“ The  nut-brown  bride  has  owsen,  brither, 
The  nut-brown  bride  has  kye ; 

1 wad  hae  you  marry  the  nut-brown  bride, 
And  cast  fair  Annet  by.” 

“ Her  owsen  may  dee  in  the  house,  billie, 
And  her  kye  into  the  byre, 

And  I sail  hae  naething  to  mysel, 

But  a fat  fadge  by  the  fire.” 

And  he  has  to  his  sister  gane ; 

“ Now,  sister,  rede  to  me ; 

0 sail  I marry  the  nut-brown  bride, 

And  set  fair  Annet  free  ? ” 

“ Fse  rede  ye  tak’  fair  Annet,  Thomas, 

And  let  the  brown  bride  alane, 

Lest  ye  sould  sigh,  and  say,  Alace, 

What  is  this  we  brought  hame  ? ” 

“No  l I will  tak’  my  mither’s  counsel, 

And  marry  me  out  o’  hand  ; 

And  I will  tak’  the  nut-brown  bride, 

Fair  Annet  may  leave  the  land.” 


LORD  THOMAS  AND  FAIR  ANNET. 


125 


Up  then  rose  fair  Annet’s  father, 

Twa  hours  or  it  were  day, 

And  he  has  gane  into  the  bower, 
Wherein  fair  Annet  lay. 

“ Eise  up,  rise  up,  fair  Annet,”  he  says, 
“ Put  on  your  silken  sheen, 

Let  us  gae  to  Saint  Marie’s  kirk, 

And  see  that  rich  weddin’.” 

“ My  maids,  gae  to  my  dressing-room 
And  dress  to  me  my  hair, 

Where’er  ye  laid  a plait  before, 

See  ye  lay  ten  times  mair. 

My  maids,  gae  to  my  dressing-room 
And  dress  to  me  my  smock, 

The  ae  half  is  o’  the  holland  fine, 

The  ither  o’  needle-work.” 

The  horse  fair  Annet  rade  upon, 

He  amblit  like  the  wind, 

Wi’  siller  he  was  shod  before, 

Wi’  burning  gowd  behind. 

Pour-and-twenty  siller  bells, 

Were  a’  tied  to  his  mane, 

Wi’  ae  tift  o’  the  norlan’  wind, 

They  tinkled  ane  by  ane. 


126  BOM  ANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


Four-and-twenty  gay  gude  knights, 
Fade  by  fair  Annet’s  side, 

And  four-and-twenty  fair  ladies, 

As  gin  she  had  been  a bride. 

And  when  she  cam’  to  Marie’s  kirk, 
She  sat  on  Marie’s  stane ; 

The  cleiding  that  fair  Annet  had  on, 

It  skinkled  in  their  e’en. 

And  when  she  cam’  into  the  kirk, 

She  skimmer’d  like  the  sun ; 

The  belt  that  was  about  her  waist, 

Was  a’  wi’  pearls  bedone. 

She  sat  her  by  the  nut-brown  bride, 
And  her  e’en  they  were  sae  clear, 

Lord  Thomas  he  clean  forgot  the  bride, 
When  fair  Annet  drew  near. 

He  had  a rose  into  his  hand, 

He  gave  it  kisses  three, 

And  reaching  by  the  nut-brown  bride, 
Laid  it  on  Annet’s  knee. 

Up  then  spak’  the  nut-brown  bride, 

She  spak’  wi’  meikle  spite ; 

“ Where  gat  ye  that  rose-water,  Annet, 
That  does  mak’  ye  sae  white  ? ” 


LORD  THOMAS  AND  FAIR  ANNET. 


12T 


“0  1 did  get  the  rose-water, 

Where  ye’ll  get  never  nane, 

For  I did  get  that  rose-water, 

Before  that  I was  born. 

“Where  I did  get  that  rose-water, 

Ye’ll  never  get  the  like ; 

For  ye’ve  been  washed  in  Dunnie’s  well, 
And  dried  on  Dunnie’s  dyke. 

“ Tak’  up  and  wear  your  rose,  Thomas, 

And  wear’t  wi’  meikle  care ; 

For  the  woman  sail  never  bear  a son 
That  will  mak’  my  heart  sae  sair.” 

When  night  was  come,  and  day  was  gane, 
And  a’  men  boune  to  bed, 

Lord  Thomas  and  the  nut-brown  bride 
In  their  chamber  were  laid. 

They  were  na  weel  lyen  down, 

And  scarcely  fa’en  asleep, 

When  up  and  stands  she,  fair  Annet, 

Just  at  Lord  Thomas’  feet. 

“ Weel  bruik  ye  o’  your  nut-brown  bride, 
Between  ye  and  the  wa’ ; 

And  sae  will  I o’  my  winding-sheet, 

That  suits  me  best  of  a’. 


128  BOM  ANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


“ Weel  bruik  ye  o’  your  nut-brown  bride, 
Between  ye  and  the  stock ; 

And  sae  will  I o’  my  black,  black  kist, 
That  has  neither  key  nor  lock ! ” 

Lord  Thomas  rase,  put  on  his  claes, 
Drew  till  him  hose  and  shoon  ; 

And  he  is  to  fair  Annet’s  bower, 

By  the  lee  light  o’  the  moon. 

The  firsten  bower  that  he  cam’  till, 
There  was  right  dowie  wark ; 

Her  mither  and  her  three  sisters, 

Were  making  fair  Annet  a sark. 

The  nexten  bower  that  he  cam’  tilL 
There  was  right  dowie  cheer ; 

Her  father  and  her  seven  brethren, 
Were  making  fair  Annet  a bier. 

The  las  ten  bower  that  he  cam’  till, 

O heavy  was  his  care, 

The  deid  candles  were  burning  bright, 
Fair  Annet  was  streekit  there. 

“0  1 will  kiss  your  cheek,  Annet, 

And  I will  kiss  your  chin ; 

And  I will  kiss  your  clay-cauld  lip, 

But  I’ll  ne’er  kiss  woman  again. 


I 


THE  BANKS  O'  YARROW . 129 

“ This  day  ye  deal  at  Annet’s  wake, 

The  bread  but  and  the  wine ; 

Before  the  morn  at  twal’  o’clock, 

They’ll  deal  the  same  at  mine.” 

The  tane  was  buried  in  Marie’s  kirk, 

The  tither  in  Marie’s  quire, 

And  out  o’  the  tane  there  grew  a birk, 

And  out  o’  the  tither  a brier. 

And  ay  they  grew,  and  ay  they  drew, 

Until  they  twa  did  meet, 

And  every  ane  that  pass’d  them  by, 

Said,  “ Thae’s  been  lovers  sweet ! ” 


THE  BANKS  O’  YARROW. 

Late  at  e’en,  drinking  the  wine, 

And  ere  they  paid  the  lawing, 

They  set  a combat  them  between, 

To  fight  it  in  the  dawing. 

“ What  though  ye  be  my  sister’s  lord, 
We’ll  cross  our  swords  to-morrow.” 
“ What  though  my  wife  your  sister  be, 
ril  meet  ye  then  on  Yarrow.” 


130  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


“ 0 stay  at  hame,  my  ain  gude  lord ! 

0 stay,  my  ain  dear  marrow ! 

My  cruel  brither  will  you  betray 
On  the  dowie  banks  o’  Yarrow.” 

“ 0 fare  ye  weel,  my  lady  dear ! 

And  put  aside  your  sorrow ; 

For  if  I gae,  I’ll  sune  return 

Frae  the  bonny  banks  o’  Yarrow.” 

She  kiss’d  his  cheek,  she  kaim’d  his  hair, 
As  oft  she’d  dune  before,  0 ; 

She  belted  him  wi’  his  gude  brand, 

And  he’s  awa’  to  Yarrow. 

When  he  gaed  up  the  Tennies  bank, 

As  he  gaed  mony  a morrow, 

Nine  armed  men  lay  in  a den, 

On  the  dowie  braes  o’  Yarrow. 

“ 0 come  ye  here  to  hunt  or  hawk 
The  bonny  Forest  thorough  ? 

Or  come  ye  here  to  wield  your  brand 
Upon  the  banks  o’  Yarrow  ? ” 

“ I come  not  here  to  hunt  or  hawk, 

As  oft  I’ve  dune  before,  0, 

But  I come  here  to  wield  my  brand 
Upon  the  banks  o’  Yarrow. 


THE  BANKS  O’  YARROW . 


131 


“ If  ye  attack  me  nine  to  ane, 

Then  may  God  send  ye  sorrow ! — 

Yet  will  I fight  while  stand  I may, 

On  the  bonny  banks  o’  Yarrow.” 

Two  has  he  hurt,  and  three  has  slain, 

On  the  bloody  braes  o’  Yarrow ; 

But  the  stubborn  knight  crept  in  behind, 
And  pierced  his  body  thorough. 

“ Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  you  brither  John, 
And  tell  your  sister  sorrow,  — 

To  come  and  lift  her  leafu’  lord 
On  the  dowie  banks  o’  Yarrow.” 

Her  brither  John  gaed  ower  yon  hill, 

As  oft  he’d  dune  before,  0 ; 

There  he  met  his  sister  dear, 

Cam’  rinnin’  fast  to  Yarrow. 

“ I dreamt  a dream  last  night,”  she  says, 

“ I wish  it  binna  sorrow ; 

I dreamt  I pu’d  the  heather  green 
Wi’  my  true  love  on  Yarrow.” 

“ I’ll  read  your  dream,  sister,”  he  says, 

“ I’ll  read  it  into  sorrow ; 

Ye’re  bidden  go  take  up  your  love, 

He’s  sleeping  sound  on  Yarrow.” 


132 


ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


She’s  torn  the  ribbons  frae  her  head 
That  were  baith  braid  and  narrow ; 

She’s  kilted  up  her  lang  claithing, 

And  she’s  awa’  to  Yarrow. 

She’s  ta’en  him  in  her  arms  twa, 

And  gien  him  kisses  thorough; 

She  sought  to  bind  his  mony  wounds, 
But  he  lay  dead  on  Yarrow. 

“ 0 haud  your  tongue,”  her  father  says, 

“ And  let  be  a’  your  sorrow ; 

I’ll  wed  you  to  a better  lord 
Than  him  ye  lost  on  Yarrow.” 

“ 0 haud  your  tongue,  father,”  she  saySf 
u Far  warse  ye  mak’  my  sorrow ; 

A better  lord  could  never  be 
Than  him  that  lies  on  Yarrow.” 

She  kissed  his  lips,  she  kaim’d  his  hair. 
As  oft  she’d  dune  before,  0 ; 

And  there  wi’  grief  her  heart  did  break 
Upon  the  banks  o’  Yarrow. 


THE  DOUGLAS  TRAGEDY . 


133 


THE  DOUGLAS  TRAGEDY. 

“ Rise  up,  rise  up,  now,  Lord  Douglas,”  she  says, 
“ And  put  on  your  armour  so  bright ; 

Lord  William  will  hae  Lady  Margret  awa 
Before  that  it  be  light.” 

“ Rise  up,  rise  up,  my  seven  bold  sons, 

And  put  on  your  armour  so  bright, 

And  take  better  care  of  your  youngest  sister, 
For  your  eldest’s  awa  the  last  night.” 


He’s  mounted  her  on  a milk-white  steed, 
And  himself  on  a dapple  gray, 

With  a bugelet  horn  hung  down  by  his  side, 
And  lightly  they  rode  away. 

Lord  William  lookit  o’er  his  left  shoulder, 
To  see  what  he  could  see, 

And  there  he  spy’d  her  seven  brethren  bold, 
Come  riding  over  the  lee. 


“ Light  down,  light  down,  Lady  Margret,”  he  said, 
“ And  hold  my  steed  in  your  hand, 

Until  that  against  your  seven  brethren  bold, 

And  your  father,  I mak’  a stand,” 


184  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


She  held  his  steed  in  her  milk-white  hand, 

And  never  shed  one  tear, 

Until  that  she  saw  her  seven  brethren  fa’, 

And  her  father  hard  fighting,  who  lov’d  her  so  dear. 

“ 0 hold  your  hand,  Lord  William ! ” she  said, 

“ For  your  strokes  they  are  wondrous  sair ; 

True  lovers  I can  get  many  a ane, 

But  a father  I can  never  get  mair.” 

0 she’s  ta’en  out  her  handkerchief, 

It  was  o’  the  holland  sae  fine, 

And  aye  she  dighted  her  father’s  bloody  wounds, 

That  were  redder  than  the  wine. 

“ 0 chuse,  0 chuse,  Lady  Margret,”  he  said, 

“ 0 whether  will  ye  gang  or  bide  ? ” 

“I’ll  gang,  I’ll  gang,  Lord  William,”  she  said, 

“ For  ye  have  left  me  nae  other  guide.” 

He’s  lifted  her  on  a milk-white  steed, 

And  himself  on  a dapple  gray, 

With  a bugelet  horn  hung  down  by  his  side, 

And  slowly  they  baith  rade  away. 

0 they  rade  on,  and  on  they  rade, 

And  a’  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 

Until  they  came  to  yon  wan  water, 

And  there  they  lighted  down. 


THE  DOUGLAS  TRAGEDY. 


135 


They  lighted  down  to  tak’  a drink 
Of  the  spring  that  ran  sae  clear, 

And  down  the  stream  ran  his  gude  heart’s  blood, 
And  sair  she  gan  to  fear. 

“Hold  up,  hold  up,  Lord  William,”  she  says, 

“ For  I fear  that  you  are  slain ; ” 

“ ’Tis  naething  but  the  shadow  of  my  scarlet  cloak, 
That  shines  in  the  water  sae  plain.” 

0 they  rade  on,  and  on  they  rade, 

And  a’  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 

Until  they  cam’  to  his  mother’s  ha’  door, 

And  there  they  lighted  down. 

" Get  up,  get  up,  lady  mother,”  he  says, 

“ Get  up,  and  let  me  in ! 

Get  up,  get  up,  lady  mother,”  he  says, 
u For  this  night  my  fair  lady  I’ve  win. 

“ 0 mak’  my  bed,  lady  mother,”  he  says, 

“ 0 mak’  it  braid  and  deep, 

And  lay  Lady  Margret  close  at  my  back, 

And  the  sounder  I will  sleep.” 

Lord  William  was  dead  lang  ere  midnight, 

Lady  Margret  lang  ere  day, 

And  all  true  lovers  that  go  thegither, 

May  they  have  mair  luck  than  they ! 


136  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


Lord  William  was  buried  in  St.  Mary’s  kirk, 
Lady  Margret  in  Mary’s  quire ; 

Out  o’  the  lady’s  grave  grew  a bonny  red  rose, 
And  out  o’  the  knight’s  a briar. 

And  they  twa  met,  and  they  twa  plat, 

And  fain  they  wad  be  near ; 

And  a’  the  warld  might  ken  right  weel 
They  were  twa  lovers  dear. 

But  by  and  rade  the  Black  Douglas, 

And  wow  but  he  was  rough ! 

For  he  pull’d  up  the  bonny  briar, 

And  flang’t  in  St.  Mary’s  Loch. 


FINE  FLOWERS  P THE  VALLEY. 

There  were  three  sisters  in  a ha’, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

There  came  three  lords  amang  them  a’, 
(The  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

The  first  o’  them  was  clad  in  red, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

“ 0 lady,  will  ye  be  my  bride  ? ” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 


FINE  FLOWERS  V THE  VALLEY. 


137 


The  second  o’  them  was  clad  in  green, 
(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

“ 0 lady,  will  ye  be  my  queen  ? ” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

The  third  o’  them  was  clad  in  yellow, 
(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

“ 0 lady,  will  ye  be  my  marrow  ? ” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ 0 ye  maun  ask  my  father  dear, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

Likewise  the  mother  that  did  me  bear  ; ” 
(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ And  ye  maun  ask  my  sister  Ann, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

And  not  forget  my  brother  John  ; ” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ 0 I have  ask’d  thy  father  dear, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

Likewise  the  mother  that  did  thee  bear ; ” 
(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

iC  And  I have  ask’d  your  sister  Ann, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

But  I forgot  your  brother  John  ; ” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 


BOM  AN  TIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 

"Now  when  the  wedding  day  was  come, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

The  knight  would  take  his  bonny  bride  home, 
(Wi?  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

And  mony  a lord,  and  mony  a knight, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

Cam*  to  behold  that  lady  bright, 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

There  was  nae  man  that  did  her  see, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

But  wished  himsell  bridegroom  to  be, 

(Wi?  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

Her  father  led  her  down  the  stair, 

(Fine  flowers  i?  the  valley  ;) 

And  her  sisters  twain  they  kiss’d  her  there ; 
(Wi?  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

Her  mother  led  her  through  the  close, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

Her  brother  John  set  her  on  her  horse  ; 

(Wi5  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ You  are  high,  and  I am  low, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

Give  me  a kiss  before  you  go,” 

(Wi?  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 


FINE  FLOWERS  V THE  VALLEY. 


139 


She  was  louting  down  to  kiss  him  sweet, 
(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

When  wi’  his  knife  he  wounded  her  deep, 
(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

She  hadna  ridden  through  half  the  town, 
(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

Until  her  heart’s  blood  stained  her  gown, 
(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“Ride  saftly  on,”  said  the  best  young  man, 
(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

“ I think  our  bride  looks  pale  and  wan  ! ” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ 0 lead  me  over  into  yon  stile, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

That  I may  stop  and  breathe  awhile,” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ 0 lead  me  over  into  yon  stair, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

For  there  I’ll  lie  and  bleed  nae  mair,” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ 0 what  will  you  leave  to  your  father  dear  ? ” 
(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

“ The  siller-shod  steed  that  brought  me  here,” 
(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 


140  BOMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


“ What  will  you  leave  to  your  mother  dear  ? ” 
(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

“ My  wedding  shift  which  I do  wear,” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ But  she  must  wash  it  very  clean, 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

For  my  heart’s  blood  sticks  in  every  seam.” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ What  will  you  leave  to  your  sister  Ann  ? ” 

(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley ;) 

“ My  silken  gown  that  stands  its  lane,” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 

“ And  what  will  you  leave  to  your  brother  John  ? ” 
(Fine  flowers  i’  the  valley  ;) 

“ The  gates  o’  hell  to  let  him  in,” 

(Wi’  the  red,  green,  and  the  yellow.) 


THE  GAY  GOSS-HAWK. 

“ 0 well  is  me,  my  gay  goss-hawk, 
That  ye  can  speak  and  flee  ; 

For  ye  shall  carry  a love-letter 
To  my  true-love  frae  me. 

“ 0 how  shall  I your  true-love  find, 
Or  how  should  I her  knaw  ? 

I bear  a tongue  ne’er  wi’  her  spake, 
An  eye  that  ne’er  her  saw.” 


THE  GAT  GOSS-HAWK. 


141 


“ 0 well  shall  you  my  true-love  ken, 

Sae  soon  as  her  ye  see, 

For  of  a*  the  flowers  o?  fair  England, 
The  fairest  flower  is  she. 

“ And  when  ye  come  to  her  castle, 

Light  on  the  bush  of  ash, 

And  sit  ye  there,  and  sing  our  loves, 

As  she  comes  frae  the  mass. 

“ And  when  she  goes  into  the  house, 
Light  ye  upon  the  whin  ; 

And  sit  ye  there,  and  sing  our  loves, 

As  she  gaes  out  and  in.” 

Lord  William  has  written  a love-letter, 
Put  in  under  the  wing  sae  grey  ; 

And  the  bird  is  awa?  to  southern  land, 
As  fast  as  he  could  gae. 

And  when  he  flew  to  that  castle, 

He  lighted  on  the  ash, 

And  there  he  sat,  and  sang  their  loves, 
As  she  came  frae  the  mass. 

And  when  she  went  into  the  house, 

He  flew  unto  the  whin  ; 

And  there  he  sat,  and  sang  their  loves, 
As  she  gaed  out  and  in. 


142  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


“ Feast  on,  feast  on,  my  maidens  a’, 

The  wine  flows  you  amang, 

Till  I gae  to  the  west-window, 

And  hear  a birdie’s  sang.” 

She’s  gane  into  the  west-window, 

And  fainly  aye  it  drew, 

And  soon  into  her  white  silk  lap 
The  bird  the  letter  threw. 

“ Ye’re  bidden  send  your  love  a send, 

For  he  has  sent  you  three  ; 

And  tell  him  where  he  can  see  you, 

Or  for  your  love  he’ll  die.” 

“I  send  him  the  rings  from  my  white  fingers, 
The  garlands  aff  my  hair, 

I send  him  the  heart  that’s  in  my  breast, 
What  would  my  love  hae  mair  ? 

And  at  the  fourth  kirk  in  fair  Scotland, 
Ye’ll  bid  him  meet  me  there.” 

She’s  gane  until  her  father  dear, 

As  fast  as  she  could  hie, 

“ An  asking,  an  asking,  my  father  dear, 

An  asking  grant  ye  me  ! 

That  if  I die  in  merry  England, 

In  Scotland  you’ll  bury  me. 


THE  GAT  GOSS-HAWK . 


143 


“ At  the  first  kirk  o’  fair  Scotland, 
Ye’ll  cause  the  bells  be  rung ; 
At  the  neist  kirk  o’  fair  Scotland 
Ye’ll  cause  the  mass  be  sung. 


“ At  the  third  kirk  o’  fair  Scotland, 

Ye’ll  deal  the  gowd  for  me  ; 

At  the  fourth  kirk  o’  fair  Scotland, 

It’s  there  you’ll  bury  me.” 

She  has  ta’en  her  to  her  bigly  bower, 
As  fast  as  she  could  hie  ; 

And  she  has  drapped  down  like  deid, 
Beside  her  mother’s  knee  ; 

Then  out  and  spak’  an  auld  witch-wife, 
By  the  fire-side  sate  she. 


Says,  — “ Drap  the  het  lead  on  her  cheek, 
And  drap  it  on  her  chin, 

And  drap  it  on  her  rose-red  lips, 

And  she  will  speak  again ; 

0 meikle  will  a maiden  do, 

To  her  true  love  to  win  ! ” 


They  drapt  the  het  lead  on  her  cheek, 
They  drapt  it  on  her  chin, 

They  drapt  it  on  her  rose-red  lips, 

But  breath  was  nane  within. 


144  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


Then  up  arose  her  seven  brothers, 

And  made  for  her  a bier ; 

The  boards  were  of  the  cedar  wood, 

The  plates  o’  silver  clear. 

And  up  arose  her  seven  sisters, 

And  made  for  her  a sark ; 

The  claith  of  it  was  satin  fine, 

The  steeking  silken  wark. 

The  first  Scots  kirk  that  they  cam’  to, 
They  gar’d  the  bells  be  rung ; 

The  neist  Scots  kirk  that  they  cam’  to, 
They  gar’d  the  mass  be  sung. 

The  third  Scots  kirk  that  they  cam’  to, 
They  dealt  the  gowd  for  her ; 

The  fourth  Scots  kirk  that  they  cam’  to, 
Her  true-love  met  them  there. 

“ Set  down,  set  down  the  bier,”  he  quoth, 
Till  I look  on  the  dead ; 

The  last  time  that  I saw  her  face, 

Her  cheeks  were  rosy  red.” 

He  rent  the  sheet  upon  her  face, 

A little  abune  the  chin  ; 

And  fast  he  saw  her  colour  come, 

And  sweet  she  smiled  on  him. 


YOUNG  RE  DIN. 


145 


IF 


“ 0 give  me  a chive  of  your  bread,  my  love, 
And  ae  drap  o’  your  wine  ; 

For  I have  fasted  for  your  sake, 

These  weary  lang  days  nine  ! 

“ Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  my  seven  brothers  ; 
Gae  hame  an’  blaw  your  horn ! 

I trow  ye  wad  hae  gi’en  me  the  skaith, 
But  I’ve  gi’ed  you  the  scorn. 

u I cam’  not  here  to  fair  Scotland, 

To  lie  amang  the  dead ; 

But  I cam’  here  to  fair  Scotland, 

Wi’  my  ain  true-love  to  wed.” 


YOUNG  REDIN. 

Fair  Catherine  from  her  bower-window 
Looked  over  heath  and  wood ; 

She  heard  a smit  o’  bridle-reins, 

And  the  sound  did  her  heart  good. 

“ Welcome,  young  Redin,  welcome! 

And  welcome  again,  my  dear ! 

Light  down,  light  down  from  your  horse,”  she  says, 
“ It’s  long  since  you  were  here.” 


146  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


“ 0 gude  morrow,  lady,  gude  morrow,  lady ; 
God  mak’  yon  safe  and  free  ! 

I?m  come  to  tak’  my  last  fareweel, 

And  pay  my  last  visit  to  thee. 

“ I mustna  light,  and  I canna  light, 

I winna  stay  at  a’ ; 

For  a fairer  lady  than  ten  of  thee 
Is  waiting  at  Castles  wa\” 

“ 0 if  your  love  be  changed,  my  dear, 

Since  better  may  not  be, 

Yet,  ne’ertheless,  for  auld  lang  syne, 

Bide  this  ae  night  wi’  me.” 

She  birl’d  him  wi?  the  ale  and  wine, 

As  they  sat  down  to  sup ; 

A living  man  he  laid  him  down, 

But  I wot  he  ne’er  rose  up. 

“ Now  lie  ye  there,  young  Bedin,”  she  says, 
“ 0 lie  ye  there  till  morn,  — 

Though  a fairer  lady  than  ten  of  me 
Is  waiting  till  you  come  home ! 

“ 0 lang,  lang  is  the  winter  night, 

Till  day  begins  to  daw ; 

There  is  a dead  man  in  my  bower, 

And  I would  he  were  awa\” 


YOUNG  REDIN. 


147 


She  cried  upon  her  bower-maiden, 

Aye  ready  at  her  ca’ : 

“ There  is  a knight  into  my  bower, 

’Tis  time  he  were  awa’.” 

They’ve  booted  him  and  spurred  him, 

As  he  was  wont  to  ride, 

A hunting-horn  tied  round  his  waist, 

A sharp  sword  by  his  side ; 

And  they’ve  flung  him  into  the  wan  water, 
The  deepest  pool  in  Clyde. 

Then  up  bespake  a little  bird 
That  sate  upon  the  tree, 

“ Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  ye  fause  lady, 

And  pay  your  maid  her  fee.” 

“ Come  down,  come  down,  my  pretty  bird, 
That  sits  upon  the  tree ; 

I have  a cage  of  beaten  gold, 

I’ll  gie  it  unto  thee.” 

“ Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  ye  fause  lady ; 

I winna  come  down  to  thee ; 

For  as  ye  have  done  to  young  Eedin, 

Ye’d  do  the  like  to  me.” 

0 there  came  seeking  young  Eedin 
Mony  a lord  and  knight, 

And  there  came  seeking  young  Eedin 
Mony  a lady  bright. 


148  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


They’ve  called  on  Lady  Catherine, 

But  she  sware  by  oak  and  thorn 

That  she  saw  him  not,  young  Bedin, 

Since  yesterday  at  morn. 

The  lady  turned  her  round  about, 

Wi’  mickle  mournfu’  din  : 

“ It  fears  me  sair  o’  Clyde  water 
That  he  is  drowned  therein.” 

Then  up  spake  young  Bedin5  s mither, 

The  while  she  made  her  mane : 

“ My  son  kenn’d  a5  the  fords  o’  Clyde, 

He’d  ride  them  ane  by  ane.” 

“ Gar  douk,  gar  douk ! ” his  father  he  cried, 
“ Gar  douk  for  gold  and  fee  ! 

O wha  will  douk  for  young  Bedin’s  sake, 
And  wha  will  douk  for  me  ? 99 

They  hae  douked  in  at  ae  weil-head, 

And  out  again  at  the  ither : 

“ We’ll  douk  nae  mair  for  young  Bedin, 
Although  he  were  our  brither.” 

Then  out  it  spake  a little  bird 
That  sate  upon  the  spray : 

“ What  gars  ye  seek  him,  young  Bedin, 

Sae  early  in  the  day  ? 


YOUNG  REDIN. 


149 


“ Leave  aff  your  douking  on  the  day, 

And  douk  at  dark  o’  night ; 

Aboon  the  pool  young  Eedin  lies  in, 
The  candles  they’ll  burn  bright.” 

They  left  aff  their  douking  on  the  day, 
They  hae  douked  at  dark  o’  night ; 

Aboon  the  pool  where  young  Eedin  lay, 
The  candles  they  burned  bright. 

The  deepest  pool  in  a’  the  stream 
They  found  young  Eedin  in ; 

Wi’  a great  stone  tied  across  his  breast 
To  keep  his  body  down. 

Then  up  and  spake  the  little  bird, 

Says,  “ What  needs  a’  this  din  ? 

It  was  Lady  Catherine  took  his  life, 
And  hided  him  in  the  linn.” 

She  sware  her  by  the  sun  and  moon, 

She  sware  by  grass  and  corn, 

She  hadna  seen  him,  young  Eedin, 

Since  Monanday  at  morn. 

“ It’s  surely  been  my  bower-woman,  — 

O ill  may  her  betide  ! 

I ne’er  wad  hae  slain  my  young  Eedin, 
And  thrown  him  in  the  Clyde.” 


150  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


Now  they  hae  cut  baith  fern  and  thorn, 
The  bower-woman  to  brin ; 

And  they  hae  made  a big  balefire, 

And  put  this  maiden  in  ; 

But  the  fire  it  took  na  on  her  cheek, 

It  took  na  on  her  chin. 

Out  they  hae  ta’en  the  bower-woman, 
And  put  her  mistress  in ; 

The  flame  took  fast  upon  her  cheek, 
Took  fast  upon  her  chin, 

Took  fast  upon  her  fair  bodie, 

Because  of  her  deadly  sin. 


WILLIE  AND  MAY  MABGARET. 

Willie  stands  in  his  stable, 
A-clapping  of  his  steed ; 

And  over  his  white  fingers 
His  nose  began  to  bleed. 

66  Gie  corn  to  my  horse,  mither ; 

Gie  meat  unto  my  man ; 

For  I maun  gang  to  Margaret’s  bower, 
Before  the  night  comes  on.” 

“O  stay  at  home,  my  son  Willie  ! 

The  wind  blaws  cold  and  stour ; 

The  night  will  be  baith  mirk  and  late, 
Before  ye  reach  her  bower.” 


WILLIE  AND  MAT  MARGARET. 


151 


“ 0 tho’  the  night  were  ever  sae  dark, 

0 the  wind  blew  never  sae  cauld, 

I will  be  in  May  Margaret’s  bower 
Before  twa  hours  be  tauld.” 

" 0 bide  this  night  wi’  me,  Willie, 

0 bide  this  night  wi’  me  ! 

The  bestan  fowl  in  a’  the  roost 

At  your  supper,  my  son,  shall  be.” 

MAJ  your  fowls,  and  a’  your  roosts, 

1 value  not  a pin ; 

I only  care  for  May  Margaret ; 

And  ere  night  to  her  bower  I’ll  win.” 

“ O an  ye  gang  to  May  Margaret 
Sae  sair  against  my  will, 

In  the  deepest  pot  o’  Clyde’s  water 
My  malison  ye’s  feel ! ” 

He  mounted  on  his  coal-black  steed, 
And  fast  he  rade  awa’ ; 

But  ere  he  came  to  Clyde’s  water 
Fu’  loud  the  wind  did  blaw. 

As  he  rade  over  yon  hie  hie  hill, 

And  doun  yon  dowie  den, 

There  was  a roar  in  Clyde’s  water 
Wad  feared  a hundred  men. 


152  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


But  Willie  has  swam  through  Clyde’s  water. 
Though  it  was  wide  and  deep ; 

And  he  came  to  May  Margaret’s  door 
When  a’  were  fast  asleep. 

0 he’s  gane  round  and  round  about, 

And  tirled  at  the  pin, 

But  doors  were  steeked  and  windows  barred, 
And  nane  to  let  him  in. 

“ 0 open  the  door  to  me,  Margaret ! 

0 open  and  let  me  in  ! 

For  my  boots  are  fu’  o’  Clyde’s  water, 

And  frozen  to  the  brim.” 

“ I daurna  open  the  door  to  you, 

1 daurna  let  you  in  ; 

For  my  mither  she  is  fast  asleep, 

And  I maun  mak’  nae  din.” 

“ 0 gin  ye  winna  open  the  door, 

Nor  be  sae  kind  to  me, 

Now  tell  me  o’  some  out-chamber, 

Where  I this  night  may  be.” 

“ Ye  canna  win  in  this  night,  Willie, 

Nor  here  ye  canna  be  ; 

For  I’ve  nae  chambers  out  nor  in, 

Nae  ane  but  barely  three. 


WILLIE  AND  MAY  MARGARET. 


153 


“ The  tane  is  fu’  to  the  roof  wi’  corn. 
The  tither  is  fu’  wi’  hay  ; 

The  third  is  fu’  o’  merry  young  men, 
They  winna  remove  till  day.” 

“ 0 fare  ye  weel,  then,  May  Margaret, 
Sin’  better  it  mauna  be. 

I have  won  my  mither’s  malison, 
Coming  this  night  to  thee.” 

He’s  mounted  on  his  coal-black  steed, 
O but  his  heart  was  wae  ! 

But  e’er  he  came  to  Clyde’s  water, 
’Twas  half-way  up  the  brae. 

When  down  he  rade  to  the  river-flood, 
’Twas  fast  flowing  ower  the  brim ; 

The  rushing  that  was  in  Clyde’s  water 
Took  Willie’s  rod  frae  him. 

He  leaned  him  ower  his  saddle-bow 
To  catch  his  rod  again ; 

The  rushing  that  was  in  Clyde’s  water 
Took  Willie’s  hat  frae  him. 

He  leaned  him  ower  his  saddle-bow 
To  catch  his  hat  by  force  ; 

The  rushing  that  was  in  Clyde’s  water 
Took  Willie  frae  his  horse. 


154  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


“ 0 I canna  turn  my  horse’s  head  ; 

I canna  strive  to  sowm  ; 

I’ve  gotten  my  mither’s  malison, 

And  it’s  here  that  I mann  drown  ! ” 

The  very  hour  this  young  man  sank 
Into  the  pot  sae  deep, 

Up  wakened  his  love,  May  Margaret, 

Out  of  her  heavy  sleep. 

“ Come  hither,  come  hither,  my  minnie  dear, 
Come  hither  read  my  dream  ; 

I dreamed  my  love  Willie  was  at  our  gates, 
And  nane  wad  let  him  in.” 

“ Lie  still,  lie  still,  dear  Margaret, 

Lie  still  and  tak’  your  rest ; 

Your  lover  Willie  was  at  the  gates, 

’Tis  but  two  quarters  past.” 

Nimbly,  nimbly  rase  she  up, 

And  quickly  put  she  on ; 

While  ever  against  her  window 
The  louder  blew  the  win’. 

Out  she  ran  into  the  night, 

And  down  the  dowie  den  *, 

The  strength  that  was  in  Clyde’s  water 
Wad  drown  five  hundred  men. 


YOUNG  BEICHAN. 


155 


She  stepped  in  to  her  ankle. 

She  stepped  free  and  bold ; 

“ Ohone,  alas  ! ” said  that  ladye, 

“ This  water  is  wondrous  cold.” 

The  second  step  that  she  waded, 

She  waded  to  the  knee  ; 

Says  she,  “ Fd  fain  wade  farther  in, 
If  I my  love  could  see.” 

The  neistan  step  that  she  waded, 

She  waded  to  the  chin ; 

’Twas  a whirlin’  pot  o’  Clyde’s  water 
She  got  sweet  Willie  in. 

“ 0 ye’ve  had  a cruel  mither,  Willie  ! 
And  I have  had  anither ; 

But  we  shall  sleep  in  Clyde’s  water 
Like  sister  and  like  brither.” 


YOUNG  BEICHAN. 

In  London  was  young  Beichan  born, 

He  longed  strange  countries  for  to  see, 
But  he  was  ta’en  by  a savage  Moor, 

Who  handled  him  right  cruellie. 

For  he  viewed  the  fashions  of  that  land, 
Their  way  of  worship  viewed  he, 

But  to  Mahound  or  Termagant 
Would  Beichan  never  bend  a knee. 


156  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS • 


So  in  every  shoulder  they’ve  putten  a bore, 
In  every  bore  they’ve  putten  a tree, 

And  they  have  made  him  trail  the  wine 
And  spices  on  his  fair  bodie. 

They’ve  casten  him  in  a dungeon  deep, 
Where  he  could  neither  hear  nor  see, 

For  seven  years  they’ve  kept  him  there, 

Till  he  for  hunger’s  like  to  dee. 

This  Moor  he  had  but  ae  daughter, 

Her  name  was  called  Susie  Pye, 

And  every  day  as  she  took  the  air, 

Near  Beichan’s  prison  she  passed  by. 

And  so  it  fell  upon  a day, 

About  the  middle  time  of  Spring, 

As  she  was  passing  by  that  way, 

She  heard  young  Beichan  sadly  sing. 

All  night  long  no  rest  she  got, 

Young  Beichan’s  song  for  thinking  on ; 

She’s  stown  the  keys  from  her  father’s  head, 
And  to  the  prison  strang  is  gone. 

And  she  has  opened  the  prison  doors, 

I wot  she  opened  two  or  three, 

Ere  she  could  come  young  Beichan  at, 

He  was  locked  up  so  curiouslie. 


YOUNG  BEICHAN 


157 


But  when  she  cam’  young  Beichan  till, 

Sore  wondered  he  that  may  to  see ; 

. He  took  her  for  some  fair  captive : 

“ Fair  lady,  I pray,  of  what  eountrie  ? ” 

“ 0 have  ye  any  lands,”  she  said, 

“ Or  castles  in  your  own  eountrie, 

That  ye  could  give  to  a lady  fair, 

From  prison  strang  to  set  you  free  ? ” 

“Near  London  town  I have  a hall, 

And  other  castles  two  or  three ; 

I’ll  give  them  all  to  the  lady  fair 
That  out  of  prison  will  set  me  free.” 

“ Give  me  the  truth  of  your  right  hand, 

The  truth  of  it  give  unto  me, 

That  for  seven  years  ye’ll  no  lady  wed, 
Unless  it  be  alang  with  me.” 

“ I’ll  give  thee  the  truth  of  my  right  hand, 
The  truth  of  it  I’ll  freely  gie, 

That  for  seven  years  I’ll  stay  unwed, 

For  the  kindness  thou  dost  show  to  me.” 

And  she  has  brib’d  the  proud  warder, 

Wi’  mickle  gold  and  white  monie, 

She’s  gotten  the  keys  of  the  prison  strang, 
And  she  has  set  young  Beichan  free. 


J£8  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


She’s  gi’en  him  to  eat  the  good  spice-cake, 
She’s  gi’en  him  to  drink  the  blude-red  wine, 
She’s  bidden  him  sometimes  think  on  her, 

That  sae  kindly  freed  him  out  o’  pine. 

And  she  has  broken  her  finger-ring, 

And  to  Beichan  half  of  it  gave  she : 

“ Keep  it,  to  mind  you  in  foreign  land 
Of  the  lady’s  love  that  set  you  free. 

“ And  set  your  foot  on  good  ship-board, 

And  haste  ye  back  to  your  ain  countrie, 

And  before  that  seven  years  have  an  end, 

Come  back  again,  love,  and  marry  me.” 

But  lang  ere  seven  years  had  an  end, 

She  longed  full  sore  her  love  to  see, 

So  she’s  set  her  foot  on  good  ship-board, 

And  turned  her  back  on  her  ain  countrie. 

She  sailed  east,  she  sailed  west, 

Till  to  fair  England’s  shore  she  came, 

Where  a bonny  shepherd  she  espied, 

Was  feeding  his  sheep  upon  the  plain. 

" What  news,  what  news,  thou  bonny  shepherd  ? 

What  news  hast  thou  to  tell  to  me  ? ” 

“ Such  news  I hear,  ladie,”  he  says, 

“ The  like  was  never  in  this  countrie. 


YOUNG  BEICHAN. 


159 


“ There  is  a wedding  in  yonder  hall, 

And  ever  the  bells  ring  merrilie ; 

It  is  Lord  Beichan’s  wedding-day 
Wi’  a lady  fair  o’  high  degree.” 

She’s  putten  her  hand  into  her  pocket, 
Gi’en  him  the  gold  and  white  monie ; 

“ Hay,  take  ye  that,  my  bonny  boy, 

All  for  the  news  thou  tell’st  to  me.” 

When  she  came  to  young  Beichan’s  gate, 
She  tirled  saftly  at  the  pin ; 

So  ready  was  the  proud  porter 
To  open  and  let  this  lady  in. 

“ Is  this  young  Beichan’s  hall,”  she  said, 

“ Or  is  that  noble  lord  within  ? ” 

“ Yea,  he’s  in  the  hall  among  them  all, 
And  this  is  the  day  o’  his  weddin.” 

“ And  has  he  wed  anither  love  ? 

And  has  he  clean  forgotten  me  ? ” 

And  sighin  said  that  ladie  gay, 

“I  wish  I were  in  my  ain  countrie.” 

And  she  has  ta’en  her  gay  gold  ring 
That  with  her  love  she  brake  sae  free ; 

Says,  “ Gie  him  that,  ye  proud  porter, 
And  bid  the  bridegroom  speak  wi’  me.” 


i 


160  BOMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


When  the  porter  came  his  lord  before, 

He  kneeled  down  low  upon  his  knee : 

6:  What  aileth  thee,  my  proud  porter, 

Thou  art  so  full  of  courtesie  ? ” 

“ I’ve  been  porter  at  your  gates, 

It’s  now  for  thirty  years  and  three ; 

But  the  lovely  lady  that  stands  thereat, 
The  like  o’  her  did  I never  see. 

“ For  on  every  finger  she  has  a ring, 

And  on  her  mid-finger  she  has  three, 

And  meikle  gold  aboon  her  brow. 

Sae  fair  a may  did  I never  see.” 

It’s  out  then  spak  the  bride’s  mother, 

And  an  angry  woman,  I wot,  was  she : 

“ Ye  might  have  excepted  our  bonny  bride, 
And  twa  or  three  of  our  companie.” 

“ 0 hold  your  tongue,  thou  bride’s  mother, 
Of  all  your  folly  let  me  be ; 

She’s  ten  times  fairer  nor  the  bride, 

And  all  that’s  in  your  companie. 

“ And  this  golden  ring  that’s  broken  in  twa, 
This  half  o’  a golden  ring  sends  she  : 

6 Ye’ll  carry  that  to  Lord  Beichan,’  she  says, 
‘And  bid  him  come  an’  speak  wi’  me.’ 


YOUNG  BEICHAN. 


161 


“ She  begs  one  sheave  of  your  white  bread, 

But  and  a cup  of  your  red  wine, 

And  to  remember  the  lady’s  love 
That  last  relieved  you  out  of  pine.” 

“ 0 well-a-day  ! ” said  Beichan  then, 

“ That  I so  soon  have  married  me ! 

For  it  can  be  none  but  Susie  Pye, 

That  for  my  love  has  sailed  the  sea.” 

And  quickly  hied  he  down  the  stair ; 

Of  fifteen  steps  he  made  but  three ; 

He’s  ta’en  his  bonny  love  in  his  arms 
And  kist  and  kist  her  tenderlie. 

“ 0 hae  ye  ta’en  anither  bride  ? 

And  hae  ye  clean  forgotten  me  ? 

And  hae  ye  quite  forgotten  her 
That  gave  you  life  and  libertie  ? ” 

She  lookit  o’er  her  left  shoulder, 

To  hide  the  tears  stood  in  her  ee : 

“Now  fare  thee  well,  young  Beichan,”  she  says, 
“ I’ll  try  to  think  no  more  on  thee.” 

“ 0 never,  never,  Susie  Pye, 

For  surely  this  can  never  be, 

Nor  ever  shall  I wed  but  her 

That’s  done  and  dreed  so  much  for  me.” 


162  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


Then  out  and  spak  the  forenoon  bride : 

“ My  lord,  your  love  it  changeth  soon. 

This  morning  I was  made  your  bride, 

And  another  chose  ere  it  be  noon.” 

u 0 hold  thy  tongue,  thou  forenoon  bride, 
Ye’re  ne’er  a whit  the  worse  for  me, 

And  whan  ye  return  to  your  ain  land, 

A double  dower  I’ll  send  with  thee.” 

He’s  ta’en  Susie  Pye  by  the  milkwhite  hand, 
And  led  her  thro’  the  halls  sae  hie, 

And  aye  as  he  kist  her  red-rose  lips, 

“ Ye’re  dearly  welcome,  jewel,  to  me.” 

He’s  ta’en  her  hy  the  milkwhite  hand, 

And  led  her  to  yon  fountain-stane ; 

He’s  changed  her  name  from  Susie  Pye, 

And  call’d  her  his  bonny  love,  Lady  Jane. 


GILDEROY. 

Gilderoy  was  a bonnie  boy, 

Had  roses  till  his  shoon, 

His  stockings  were  of  silken  soy, 
Wi’  garters  hanging  doun : 

It  was,  I ween,  a comely  sight, 

To  see  sae  trim  a boy ; 

He  was  my  joy  and  heart’s  delight, 
My  winsome  Gilderoy. 


GILDEROY. 


163 


0 sic  twa  charming  e’en  he  had, 

A breath  as  sweet  as  rose, 

He  never  ware  a Highland  plaid, 

But  costly  silken  clothes  ; 

He  gained  the  love  of  ladies  gay, 
Nane  e’er  to  him  was  coy ; 

Ah,  wae  is  me  ! I mourn  this  day 
For  my  dear  Gilderoy. 

My  Gilderoy  and  I were  born 
Baith  in  one  toun  together, 

We  scant  were  seven  years  beforn 
We  ’gan  to  luve  each  ither ; 

Our  daddies  and  our  mammies  they 
Were  fill’d  wi’  meikle  joy, 

To  think  upon  the  bridal  day 
Of  me  and  Gilderoy. 

For  Gilderoy,  that  luve  of  mine, 
Gude  faith,  I freely  bought 
A wedding  sark  of  Holland  fine, 

Wi’  dainty  ruffles  wrought ; 

And  he  gied  me  a wedding-ring, 
Which  I received  wi’  joy; 

Nae  lad  nor  lassie  e’er  could  sing 
Like  me  and  Gilderoy. 

Wi’  meikle  joy  we  spent  our  prime, 
Till  we  were  baith  sixteen, 

And  aft  we  passed  the  langsam  time 
Amang  the  leaves  sae  green ; 


164  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


Aft  on  the  banks  we’d  sit  us  there, 

And  sweetly  kiss  and  toy ; 

Wi’  garlands  gay  wad  deck  my  hair 
My  handsome  Gilderoy. 

0 that  he  still  had  been  content 
Wi’  me  to  lead  his  life  ! 

But  ah,  his  manfu’  heart  was  bent 
To  stir  in  feats  of  strife. 

And  he  in  many  a venturous  deed 
His  courage  bold  wad  try  ; 

And  now  this  gars  my  heart  to  bleed 
For  my  dear  Gilderoy. 

And  when  of  me  his  leave  he  took, 

The  tears  they  wat  mine  e’e  ; 

1 gied  him  sic  a parting  look  : 

“ My  benison  gang  wi’  thee  ! 

God  speed  thee  weel,  my  ain  dear  heart, 
For  gane  is  all  my  joy  ; 

My  heart  is  rent  sith  we  maun  part, 

My  handsome  Gilderoy.” 

The  Queen  of  Scots  possessed  nought 
That  my  luve  let  me  want ; 

For  cow  and  ewe  he  to  me  brought, 

And  e’en  when  they  were  scant : 

All  these  did  honestly  possess, 

He  never  did  annoy 

Who  never  failed  to  pay  their  cess 
To  my  luve  Gilderoy. 


GILDEROY, 


165 


My  Gilderoy,  baith  far  and  near, 

Was  fear’d  in  every  toun, 

And  bauldly  bare  awa’  the  gear 
Of  many  a lawland  loun  : 

For  man  to  man  durst  meet  him  nane, 

He  was  sae  brave  a boy  ; 

At  length  with  numbers  he  was  ta’en, 

My  winsome  Gilderoy. 

Wae  worth  the  loun  that  made  the  laws, 
To  hang  a man  for  gear ; 

To  reive  of  life  for  sic  a cause, 

As  stealing  horse  or  mare ! 

Had  not  these  laws  been  made  sae  strick, 
I ne’er  had  lost  my  joy, 

Wi’  sorrow  ne’er  had  wat  my  cheek, 

For  my  dear  Gilderoy. 

Gif  Gilderoy  had  done  amiss, 

He  might  have  banished  been. 

Ah,  what  sair  cruelty  is  this, 

To  hang  sic  handsome  men  ! 

To  hang  the  flower  o’  Scottish  land, 

Sae  sweet  and  fair  a boy ! 

Nae  lady  had  so  white  a hand 
As  thee,  my  Gilderoy. 

Of  Gilderoy  sae  ’fraid  they  were, 

They  bound  him  meikle  strong, 

To  Edinburgh  they  took  him  there, 

And  on  a gallows  hung : 


166  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


They  hung  him  high  aboon  the  rest, 

He  was  sae  trim  a boy ; 

There  died  the  youth  whom  I lo’ed  best, 
My  handsome  Gilderoy. 

Sune  as  he  yielded  up  his  breath, 

I bare  his  corpse  away, 

Wi’  tears  that  trickled  for  his  death, 

I wash’d  his  comely  clay  ; 

And  sicker  in  a grave  sae  deep 
I laid  the  dear-lo’ed  boy ; 

And  now  forever  I maun  weep 
My  winsome  Gilderoy. 


BOHHY  BARBARA  ALLAH. 

It  was  in  and  about  the  Martinmas  time, 
When  the  green  leaves  were  a falling, 

That  Sir  John  Graeme,  in  the  West  Country, 
Fell  in  love  with  Barbara  Allan. 

He  sent  his  men  down  through  the  town, 

To  the  place  where  she  was  dwelling : 

“ 0 haste  and  come  to  my  master  dear, 

Gin  ye  be  Barbara  Allan.” 

0 hooly,  hooly  rose  she  up, 

To  the  place  where  he  was  lying, 

And  when  she  drew  the  curtain  by, 

“ Young  man,  I think  you’re  dying.” 


BONNY  BARBARA  ALLAN 


167 


“ 0 it’s  Fm  sick,  and  very,  very  sick, 

And  it’s  a’  for  Barbara  Allan  ; ” 
u 0 the  better  for  me  ye’s  never  be, 

Tho  your  heart’s  blood  were  a spilling. 

“ 0 dinna  ye  mind,  young  man,”  said  she, 

“ When  ye  was  in  the  tavern  a drinking, 
That  ye  made  the  healths  gae  round  and  round, 
And  slighted  Barbara  Allan  ? ” 

He  turned  his  face  unto  the  wall, 

And  death  was  with  him  dealing ; 

“ Adieu,  adieu,  my  dear  friends  all, 

And  be  kind  to  Barbara  Allan.” 

And  slowly,  slowly  raise  she  up, 

And  slowly,  slowly  left  him, 

And  sighing  said,  she  could  not  stay, 

Since  death  of  life  had  reft  him. 

She  had  not  gane  a mile  but  twa, 

When  she  heard  the  dead-bell  ringing, 

And  every  jow  that  the  dead-bell  gied, 

It  cry’d,  Woe  to  Barbara  Allan  ! 

“ 0 mother,  mother,  make  my  bed  ! 

0 make  it  saft  and  narrow  ! 

Since  my  love  died  for  me  to-day, 

I’ll  die  for  him  to-morrow.” 


168  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


THE  GARDENER. 

The  gard’ner  stands  in  his  bower  door, 
Wi?  a primrose  in  his  hand, 

And  by  there  cam’  a leal  maiden, 

As  jimp  as  a willow  wand. 

“ 0 ladie,  can  ye  fancy  me, 

For  to  be  my  bride  ? 

Ye’se  get  a’  the  flowers  in  my  garden, 
To  be  to  you  a weed. 

“ The  lily  white  sail  be  your  smock ; 

It  becomes  your  bodie  best ; 

Your  head  sail  be  buskt  wi’  gilly-flower, 
Wi’  the  primrose  in  your  breast. 

“ Your  goun  sail  be  the  sweet-william ; 
Your  coat  the  camovine  ; 

Your  apron  o’  the  sallads  neat, 

That  taste  baith  sweet  and  fine. 

“ Your  hose  sail  be  the  brade  kail-blade, 
That  is  baith  brade  and  lang ; 

Narrow,  narrow  at  the  cute, 

And  brade,  brade  at  the  brawn. 


ETIN  THE  FOEESTER. 


169 


“Your  gloves  sail  be  the  marigold, 

All  glittering  to  your  hand, 

Weel  spread  owre  wi’  the  blue  blaewort, 

That  grows  amang  corn-land.” 

“ O fare  ye  weil,  young  man,”  she  says, 

“ Fareweil,  and  I bid  adieu ; 

If  you  can  fancy  me,”  she  says, 

" I canna  fancy  you. 

“ Sin’  ye’ve  provided  a weed  for  me 
Amang  the  simmer  flowers, 

It’s  I’se  provide  anither  for  you, 

Amang  the  winter-showers : 

“ The  new  fawn  snaw  to  be  your  smock ; 

It  becomes  your  bodie  best ; 

Your  head  sail  be  wrapt  wi’  the  eastern  wind, 
And  the  cauld  rain  on  your  breast.” 


ETIN  THE  FOEESTER. 

Lady  Margaret  sits  in  her  bower  door, 
Sewing  her  silken  seam ; 

She  heard  a note  in  Elmond’s  wood, 

And  wished  she  there  had  been. 

She  loot  the  seam  fa’  frae  her  side, 

And  the  needle  to  her  tae, 

And  she  is  aff  to  Elmond’s  wood 
As  fast  as  she  could  gae. 


170  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


She  hadna  pu’d  a nut,  a nut, 

Nor  broken  a branch  but  ane, 

Till  by  there  cam’  a young  hynd  chiel, 
Says,  “ Lady,  lat  alane. 

“ 0 why  pu’  ye  the  nut,  the  nut, 

Or  why  brake  ye  the  tree  ? 

For  I am  forester  o’  this  wood : 

Ye  should  spier  leave  at  me.” 

“ Til  spier  leave  at  na  living  man, 

Nor  yet  will  I at  thee ; 

My  father  is  king  o’er  a’  this  realm, 
This  wood  belangs  to  me.” 

“ You’re  welcome  to  the  wood,  Marg’ret, 
You’re  welcome  here  to  me; 

A fairer  bower  than  e’er  you  saw. 

I’ll  bigg  this  night  for  thee.” 

He  has  bigged  a bower  beside  the  thorn 
He  has  fenced  it  up  wi’  stane, 

And  there  within  the  Elmond  wood, 
They  twa  has  dwelt  their  lane. 

He  kept  her  in  the  Elmond  wood, 

For  twelve  lang  years  and  mair ; 

And  seven  fair  sons  to  Hynd  Etin, 

Did  that  gay  lady  bear. 


ETIN  THE  FORESTER. 


171 


It  fell  out  ance  upon  a day, 

To  the  hunting  he  has  gane ; 

And  he  has  ta’en  his  eldest  son, 

To  gang  alang  wi’  him. 

When  they  were  in  the  gay  greenwood, 

They  heard  the  mavis  sing ; 

When  they  were  up  aboon  the  brae, 

They  heard  the  kirk  bells  ring. 

“ 0 I wad  ask  ye  something,  father, 

An’  ye  wadna  angry  be  ! ” 

u Say  on,  say  on,  my  bonny  boy, 

Ye’se  nae  be  quarrelled  by  me.” 

“ My  mither’s  cheeks  are  aft-times  weet, 

It’s  seldom  they  are  dry ; 

What  is’t  that  gars  my  mither  greet, 

And  sob  sae  bitterlie  ? ” 

u Nae  wonder  she  suld  greet,  my  boy, 

Nae  wonder  she  suld  pine, 

For  it  is  twelve  lang  years  and  mair, 

She’s  seen  nor  kith  nor  kin, 

And  it  is  twelve  lang  years  and  mair, 

Since  to  the  kirk  she’s  been. 

“ Your  mither  was  an  Earl’s  daughter, 

And  cam’  o’  high  degree, 

And  she  might  hae  wedded  the  first  in  the  land, 
Had  she  nae  been  stown  by  me. 


172  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


“ For  I was  but  her  father’s  page, 

And  served  him  on  my  knee ; 

And  yet  my  love  was  great  for  her, 

And  sae  was  hers  for  me.” 

“ I’ll  shoot  the  laverock  i’  the  lift, 

The  buntin  on  the  tree, 

And  bring  them  to  my  mither  hame, 
See  if  she’ll  merrier  be.” 

It  fell  upon  anither  day, 

This  forester  thought  lang ; 

And  he  is  to  the  hunting  gane 
The  forest  leaves  amang. 

Wi’  bow  and  arrow  by  his  side, 

He  took  his  path  alane ; 

And  left  his  seven  young  children 
To  bide  wi’  their  mither  at  hame. 

€t  0 I wad  ask  ye  something,  mither, 

An  ye  wadna  angry  be.” 

“ Ask  on,  ask  on,  my  eldest  son ; 

Ask  ony  thing  at  me.” 

“ Your  cheeks  are  aft-times  weet,  mither; 
You’re  greetin’,  as  I can  see.” 

“Nae  wonder,  nae  wonder,  my  little  son, 
Nae  wonder  though  I should  dee ! 


ETIN  THE  FORESTER . 


173 


“ For  I was  ance  an  Earl’s  daughter, 

Of  noble  birth  and  fame ; 

And  now  Fm  the  mither  o’  seven  sons 
Wha  ne’er  gat  christendame.” 

He’s  ta’en  his  mither  by  the  hand, 

His  six  brithers  also, 

And  they  are  on  through  Elmond-wood 
As  fast  as  they  could  go. 

They  wistna  weel  wha  they  were  gaen, 
And  weary  were  their  feet ; 

They  wistna  weel  wha  they  were  gaen, 

Till  they  stopped  at  her  father’s  gate. 

“ I hae  nae  money  in  my  pocket, 

But  jewel-rings  I hae  three ; 

I’ll  gie  them  to  you,  my  little  son, 

And  ye’ll  enter  there  for  me. 

" Ye’ll  gie  the  first  to  the  proud  porter, 

And  he  will  lat  you  in ; 

Ye’ll  gie  the  next  to  the  butler-boy, 

And  he  will  show  you  ben. 

“ Ye’ll  gie  the  third  to  the  minstrel 
That’s  harping  in  the  ha’, 

And  he’ll  play  gude  luck  to  the  bonny  boy 
That  comes  frae  the  greenwood  shaw.” 


174  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


He  gied  the  first  to  the  proud  porter, 

And  he  opened  and  lat  him  in ; 

He  gied  the  next  to  the  butler-boy, 

And  he  has  shown  him  ben ; 

He  gied  the  third  to  the  minstrel 
Was  harping  in  the  ha’, 

And  he  played  gude  luck  to  the  bonny  boy 
That  cam’  frae  the  greenwood  shaw. 

How  when  he  cam’  before  the  Earl, 

He  louted  on  his  knee ; 

The  Earl  he  turned  him  round  about, 

And  the  saut  tear  blint  his  e’e. 

“ Win  up,  win  up,  thou  bonny  boy, 

Gang  frae  my  companie ; 

Ye  look  sae  like  my  dear  daughter, 

My  heart  will  burst  in  three ! ” 

“ If  I look  like  your  dear  daughter, 

A wonder  it  is  nane ; 

If  I look  like  your  dear  daughter, 

I am  her  eldest  son.” 

“ 0 tell  me  soon,  ye  little  wee  boy, 

Where  may  my  Margaret  be  ? ” 

“ She’s  e’en  now  standing  at  your  gates, 

And  my  six  brithers  her  wi’.” 


ETIN  THE  FORESTER . 


175 


“ 0 where  are  a9  my  porter-boys 
That  I pay  meat  and  fee, 

To  open  my  gates  baith  braid  and  wide, 
And  let  her  come  in  to  me  ? ” 

When  she  earn’  in  before  the  Earl, 

She  fell  doun  low  on  her  knee : 

“ Win  up,  win  up,  my  daughter  dear ; 
This  day  ye’se  dine  wi9  me.” 

“ Ae  bit  I canna  eat,  father, 

Ae  drop  I canna  drink, 

Till  I see  Etin,  my  husband  dear ; 

Sae  lang  for  him  I think ! ” 

u 0 where  are  a9  my  rangers  bold 
That  I pay  meat  and  fee, 

To  search  the  forest  far  and  wide, 

And  bring  Hynd  Etin  to  me  ? ” 

Out  it  speaks  the  little  wee  boy : 

“Na,  na,  this  maunna  be; 

Without  ye  grant  a free  pardon, 

I hope  ye9ll  na  him  see  ! ” 

“ 0 here  I grant  a free  pardon, 

Well  sealed  wi9  my  ain  han9 ; 

And  mak9  ye  search  for  Hynd  Etin, 

As  sune  as  ever  ye  can.” 


176  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


They  searched  the  country  braid  and  wide, 
The  forest  far  and  near, 

And  they  found  him  into  Elmond-wood, 
Tearing  his  yellow  hair. 

“ Win  up,  win  up  now,  Hynd  Etin, 

Win  up  and  boun’  wi’  me ; 

For  we  are  come  frae  the  castle, 

And  the  Earl  wad  fain  you  see.” 

" 0 lat  him  tak’  my  head,”  he  says, 

“ Or  hang  me  on  a tree ; 

For  sin’  I’ve  lost  my  dear  lady, 

My  life’s  nae  worth  to  me ! ” 

“ Your  head  will  na  be  touched,  Etin, 

FTor  sail  you  hang  on  tree ; 

Your  lady’s  in  her  father’s  court, 

And  all  he  wants  is  thee.” 

When  he  cam’  in  before  the  Earl, 

He  louted  on  his  knee : 
u Win  up,  win  up  now,  Hynd  Etin ; 

This  day  ye’se  dine  wi’  me.” 

As  they  were  at  their  dinner  set, 

The  boy  he  asked  a boon : 
u I wold  we  were  in  haly  kirk, 

To  get  our  christendoun. 


LAMKIN. 


177 


“ For  we  hae  lived  in  gude  greenwood 
These  twelve  lang  years  and  ane ; 
But  a’  this  time  since  e’er  I mind 
Was  never  a kirk  within.” 

“Your  asking’s  11a  sae  great,  my  boy, 
But  granted  it  sail  be : 

This  day  to  haly  kirk  sail  ye  gang, 
And  your  mither  sail  gang  you  wi’.” 

When  she  cam’  to  the  haly  kirk, 

She  at  the  door  did  stan’ ; 

She  was  sae  sunken  doun  wi’  shame, 
She  couldna  come  farther  ben. 

Then  out  it  spak’  the  haly  priest, 

Wi’  a kindly  word  spak’  he : 

“Come  ben,  come  ben,  my  lily-flower, 
And  bring  your  babes  to  me.” 

/ 

LAMKIN. 

It’s  Lamkin  was  a mason  good 
As  ever  built  wi’  stane  ; 

He  built  Lord  Wearie’s  castle, 

But  payment  gat  he  nane. 

“0  pay  me,  Lord  Wearie, 

Come,  pay  me  my  fee  : ” 

“I  canna  pay  you,  Lamkin, 

For  I maun  gang  o’er  the  sea.” 


178  BOM  ANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


“0  pay  me  now,  Lord  Wearie, 

Come,  pay  me  out  o’  hand : ” 

“ I canna  pay  you,  Lamkin, 

Unless  I sell  my  land.” 

“ 0 gin  ye  winna  pay  me, 

I here  sail  mak’  a vow, 

Before  that  ye  come  hame  again, 

Ye  sail  hae  cause  to  rue.” 

Lord  Wearie  got  a bonny  ship, 

To  sail  the  saut  sea  faem ; 

Bade  his  lady  weel  the  castle  keep, 
Ay  till  he  should  come  hame. 

But  the  nourice  was  a fause  limmer 
As  e’er  hung  on  a tree  ; 

She  laid  a plot  wi’  Lamkin, 

Whan  her  lord  was  o’er  the  sea. 

She  laid  a plot  wi’  Lamkin, 

When  the  servants  were  awa’, 

Loot  him  in  at  a little  shot-window, 
And  brought  him  to  the  ha’. 

“ 0 where’s  a’  the  men  o’  this  house, 
That  ca’  me  Lamkin  ? ” 

“ They’re  at  the  barn-well  thrashing  ; 
’Twill  be  lang  ere  they  come  in.” 


LAMKIN. 


179 


“ And  where’s  the  women  o’  this  house, 
That  ca’  me  Lamkin  ? ” 

“ They’re  at  the  far  well  washing ; 
’Twill  be  lang  ere  they  come  in.” 

“ And  where’s  the  bairns  o’  this  house, 
That  ca’  me  Lamkin  ? ” 

“ They’re  at  the  school  reading ; 

’Twill  be  night  or  they  come  hame.” 

“ 0 where’s  the  lady  o’  this  house, 

That  ca’s  me  Lamkin  ? ” 

“ She’s  up  in  her  bower  sewing, 

But  we  soon  can  bring  her  down.” 

Then  Lamkin’s  tane  a sharp  knife, 
That  hang  down  by  his  gaire, 

And  he  has  gi’en  the  bonny  babe 
A deep  wound  and  a sair. 

Then  Lamkin  he  rocked, 

And  the  fause  nourice  she  sang, 

Till  frae  ilka  bore  o’  the  cradle 
The  red  blood  out  sprang. 

Then  out  it  spak’  the  lady, 

As  she  stood  on  the  stair : 

“ What  ails  my  bairn,  nourice, 

That  he’s  greeting  sae  sair  ? 


180  BOMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


“ 0 still  my  bairn,  nourice, 

0 still  him  wi’  the  pap  ! ” 

“He  winna  still,  lady, 

For  this  nor  for  that.” 

“ 0 still  my  bairn,  nourice, 

0 still  him  wi’  the  wand  ! ” 

“ He  winna  still,  lady, 

For  a’  his  father’s  land.” 

“ 0 still  my  bairn,  nourice, 

0 still  him  wi’  the  bell ! ” 

“ He  winna  still,  lady, 

Till  you  come  down  yoursel.” 

O the  firsten  step  she  steppit, 

She  steppit  on  a stane  ; 

But  the  neisten  step  she  steppit, 

She  met  him  Lamkin. 

“ 0 mercy,  mercy,  Lamkin, 

Hae  mercy  upon  me  ! 

Though  you’ve  ta’en  my  young  son’s  life, 
Ye  may  let  mysel  be.” 

“ 0 sail  I kill  her,  nourice, 

Or  sail  I lat  her  be  ? ” 

“ 0 kill  her,  kill  her,  Lamkin, 

For  she  ne’er  was  good  to  me.” 


LAMKIN. 


181 


“ 0 scour  the  bason,  nourice, 

And  mak’  it  fair  and  clean, 

For  to  keep  this  lady’s  heart’s  blood, 
For  she’s  come  o’  noble  kin.” 

“ There  need  nae  bason,  Lamkin, 

Lat  it  run  through  the  floor ; 

What  better  is  the  heart’s  blood 
O’  the  rich  than  o’  the  poor  ? ” 

But  ere  three  months  were  at  an  end, 
Lord  Wearie  cam’  again  ; 

But  dowie,  dowie  was  his  heart 
When  first  he  cam’  hame. 

“ 0 wha’s  blood  is  this,”  he  says, 

“ That  lies  in  the  chamer  ? ” 

“ It  is  your  lady’s  heart’s  blood ; 

’Tis  as  clear  as  the  lamer.” 

“ And  wha’s  blood  is  this,”  he  says, 

“ That  lies  in  my  ha’  ? ” 

“ It  is  your  young  son’s  heart’s  blood ; 
’Tis  the  clearest  ava.” 

O sweetly  sang  the  black-bird 
That  sat  upon  the  tree ; 

But  sairer  grat  Lamkin, 

When  he  was  condemnd  to  die. 


182  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


And  bonny  sang  the  mavis, 

Out  o’  the  thorny  brake  ; 

But  sairer  grat  the  nourice, 

When  she  was  tied  to  the  stake. 


HUGH  OF  LINCOLN. 

Four  and  twenty  bonny  boys 
Were  playing  at  the  ba’, 

And  up  it  stands  him  sweet  Sir  Hugh, 
The  flower  amang  them  a’. 

He  kicked  the  ba’  there  wi’  his  foot, 
And  keppit  it  wi’  his  knee, 

Till  even  in  at  the  J ew’s  window 
He  gart  the  bonny  ba’  flee. 


“ Cast  out  the  ba’  to  me,  fair  maid, 

Cast  out  that  ba’  o’  mine.” 

“ Never  a bit,”  says  the  Jew’s  daughter, 

“ Till  ye  come  up  an’  dine. 

“ Come  up,  sweet  Hugh,  come  up,  dear  Hugh, 
Come  up  and  get  the  ba’.” 

“I  winna  come,  I maynacome, 

Without  my  bonny  boys  a’.” 


HUGH  OF  LINCOLN . 


i 


183 


She’s  ta’en  her  to  the  Jew’s  garden, 

Where  the  grass  grew  lang  and  green, 

She’s  pu’d  an  apple  red  and  white, 

To  wyle  the  bonny  boy  in. 

She’s  wyled  him  in  through  ae  chamber, 

She’s  wyled  him  in  through  twa, 

She’s  wyled  him  into  the  third  chamber, 

And  that  was  the  warst  o’  a’. 

She’s  tied  the  little  boy,  hands  and  feet, 

She’s  pierced  him  wi’  a knife, 

She’s  caught  his  heart’s  blood  in  a golden  cup, 
And  twinn’d  him  o’  his  life. 

She  row’d  him  in  a cake  o’  lead, 

Bade  him  lie  still  and  sleep, 

She  cast  him  into  a deep  draw-well, 

Was  fifty  fathom  deep. 

When  bells  were  rung,  and  mass  was  sung, 
And  every  bairn  went  hame, 

Then  ilka  lady  had  her  young  son, 

But  Lady  Helen  had  nane. 

She’s  row’d  her  mantle  her  about, 

And  sair,  sair  ’gan  she  weep ; 

And  she  ran  unto  the  Jew’s  house, 

When  they  were  all  asleep. 


184  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


“ My  bonny  Sir  Hugh,  my  pretty  Sir  Hugh, 
I pray  thee  to  me  speak  ! ” 

“ Lady  Helen,  come  to  the  deep  draw-well 
Gin  ye  your  son  wad  seek.” 

Lady  Helen  ran  to  the  deep  draw-well, 
And  knelt  upon  her  knee  : 

“ My  bonny  Sir  Hugh,  an  ye  be  here, 

I pray  thee  speak  to  me  ! ” 

“ The  lead  is  wondrous  heavy,  mither, 

The  well  is  wondrous  deep ; 

A keen  penknife  sticks  in  my  heart, 

It  is  hard  for  me  to  speak.  • 

“ Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  my  mither  dear, 
Fetch  me  my  winding-sheet ; 

And  at  the  back  o’  merry  Lincoln, 

It’s  there  we  twa  sail  meet.” 

Now  Lady  Helen  she’s  gane  hame, 

Made  him  a winding-sheet ; 

And  at  the  back  o’  merry  Lincoln, 

The  dead  corpse  did  her  meet. 

And  a’  the  bells  o’  merry  Lincoln 
Without  men's  hands  were  rung ; 

And  a’  the  books  o’  merry  Lincoln 
Were  read  without  men’s  tongue : 

Never  was  such  a burial 
Sin’  Adam’s  days  begun. 


FAIR  ANNIE . 


185 


FAIR  ANNIE. 

“ Learn  to  mak’  your  bed,  Annie, 

And  learn  to  lie  your  lane ; 

For  I am  going  ayont  the  sea, 

A braw  bride  to  bring  hame. 

“Wi’  her  I’ll  get  baith  gowd  and  gear, 
Wi’  thee  I ne’er  gat  nane ; 

I got  thee  as  a waif  woman, 

I’ll  leave  thee  as  the  same. 

“ But  wha  will  bake  my  bridal  bread, 

And  brew  my  bridal  ale, 

And  wha  will  welcome  my  bright  bride, 
That  I bring  owre  the  dale  ? ” 

“It’s  I will  bake  your  bridal  bread, 

And  brew  your  bridal  ale ; 

And  I will  welcome  your  bright  bride, 
When  she  comes  owre  the  dale.” 

He  set  his  foot  into  the  stirrup, 

His  hand  upon  the  mane ; 

Says,  “ It  will  be  a year  and  a day, 

Ere  ye  see  me  again.” 


186  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


Fair  Annie  stood  in  her  bower  door, 

And  looked  out  o’er  the  Ian’, 

And  there  she  saw  her  ain  gude  lord 
Leading  his  bride  by  the  han’. 

She’s  drest  her  sons  i’  the  scarlet  red, 
Hersel  i’  the  dainty  green ; 

And  tho’  her  cheek  look’d  pale  and  wan, 
She  weel  might  hae  been  a queen. 

She  called  upon  her  eldest  son ; 

“ Look  yonder  what  ye  see, 

For  yonder  comes  your  father  dear, 

Your  stepmither  him  wi’. 

u Ye’re  welcome  hame,  my  ain  gude  lord, 
To  your  halls  but  and  your  bowers ; 

Ye’re  welcome  hame,  my  ain  gude  lord^ 
To  your  castles  and  your  towers ; 

Sae  is  your  bright  bride  you  beside, 
She’s  fairer  than  the  flowers  ! ” 

“ I thank  ye,  I thank  ye,  fair  maiden, 
That  speaks  sae  courteouslie  ; 

If  I be  lang  about  this  house, 

Rewarded  ye  sail  be. 

“ 0 what’n  a maiden’s  that,”  she  says, 

“ That  welcomes  you  and  me  ? 

She  is  sae  like  my  sister  Annie, 

Was  stown  i’  the  bower  frae  me.” 


FAIR  ANNIE . 


187 


O she  has  served  the  lang  tables, 

Wi’  the  white  bread  and  the  wine ; 

But  ay  she  drank  the  wan  water, 

To  keep  her  colour  fine. 

And  as  she  gaed  by  the  first  table, 

She  leugh  amang  them  a’ ; 

But  ere  she  reach’d  the  second  table, 

She  loot  the  tears  doun  fa\ 

She’s  ta’en  a napkin  lang  and  white, 

And  hung  it  on  a pin ; 

And  it  was  a’  to  dry  her  e’en, 

As  she  ga’ed  out  and  in. 

When  bells  were  rung,  and  mass  was  sung, 
And  a’  men  boun  to  bed, 

The  bride  but  and  the  bonny  bridegroom, 
In  ae  chamber  were  laid. 

She’s  ta’en  her  harp  intill  her  hand, 

To  harp  this  twa  asleep ; 

And  ay  as  she  harped  and  as  she  sang, 

Full  sairly  did  she  weep. 

“ 0 seven  full  fair  sons  hae  I born, 

To  the  gude  lord  o’  this  place ; 

And  0 that  they  were  seven  young  hares, 
And  them  to  rin  a race, 

And  I mysel  a gude  greyhound, 

And  I wad  gie  them  chase ! 


188  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


I 


ts  0 seven  full  fair  sons  hae  I born 
To  the  gude  lord  o’  this  ha’ ; 

And  0 that  they  were  seven  rattons 
To  rin  frae  wa’  to  wa’, 

And  I mysel  a gude  grey  cat, 

And  I wad  worry  them  a* ! ” 

“ My  goun  is  on,”  said  the  new-come  bride, 

“ My  shoon  are  on  my  feet ; 

And  I will  to  fair  Annie’s  chamber, 

And  see  what  gars  her  greet. 

“ 0 wha  was’t  was  your  father,  Annie, 

And  wha  was’t  was  your  mither  ? 

And  had  ye  ony  sister,  Annie, 

Or  had  ye  ony  brither  ? ” 

“ The  Earl  o’  Richmond  was  my  father, 

His  lady  was  my  mither, 

And  a’  the  bairns  beside  mysel, 

Was  a sister  and  a brither.” 

“0  weel  befa’  your  sang,  Annie, 

I wat  ye  hae  sung  in  time ; 

Gin  the  Earl  o’  Richmond  was  your  father, 
I wat  sae  was  he  mine. 

“ 0 keep  your  lord,  my  sister  dear, 

Ye  never  were  wranged  by  me ; 

I had  but  ae  kiss  o’  his  merry  mouth, 

As  we  cam’  owre  the  sea. 


THE  LAIRD  O’  DRUM. 


189 


There  were  five  ships  o’  gude  red  gold 
Cam’  owre  the  seas  wi’  me, 

It’s  twa  o’  them  will  tak’  me  hame, 
And  three  I’ll  leave  wi’  thee.” 


THE  LAIRD  O’  DRUM. 

The  Laird  o’  Drum  is  a-hunting  gane, 
All  in  a morning  early, 

And  he  has  spied  a weel-faur’d  May, 
A-shearing  at  her  barley. 

“ My  bonny  May,  my  weel-faur’d  May, 

0 will  ye  fancy  me,  0 ? 

Wilt  gae  and  be  the  Leddy  o’  Drum, 
And  let  your  shearing  a-be,  0 ? ” 

“ It’s  I winna  fancy  you,  kind  sir, 

Nor  let  my  shearing  a-be,  0 ; 

For  I’m  ower  low  to  be  Leddy  Drum, 
And  your  light  love  I’ll  never  be,  0.” 

“ Gin  ye’ll  cast  aff  that  goun  o’  gray, 

Put  on  the  silk  for  me,  0, 

I’ll  mak’  a vow,  and  keep  it  true, 

A light  love  you’ll  never  be,  0.” 


190  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


“ My  father  he  is  a shepherd  mean, 

Keeps  sheep  on  yonder  hill,  0, 

And  ye  may  gae  and  speer  at  him, 

For  I am  at  his  will,  0.” 

Drum  is  to  her  father  gane, 

Keeping  his  sheep  on  yon  hill,  0 : 

“ I am  come  to  marry  your  ae  daughter, 

If  ye’ll  gie  me  your  good-will,  0.” 

u My  dochter  can  naether  read  nor  write, 

She  ne’er  was  brocht  up  at  scheel,  0 ; 
But  weel  can  she  milk  baith  cow  and  ewe, 
And  mak’  a kebbuck  weel,  O. 

“ She’ll  shake  your  barn,  and  win  your  corn, 
And  gang  to  kiln  and  mill,  0 ; x 
She’ll  saddle  your  steed  in  time  o’  need, 
And  draw  aff  your  boots  hersell,  0.” 

“ I’ll  learn  your  lassie  to  read  and  write, 
And  I’ll  put  her  to  the  scheel,  0 ; 

She  shall  neither  need  to  saddle  my  steed, 
Nor  draw  aff  my  boots  hersell,  0. 

“But  wha  will  bake  my  bridal  bread, 

Or  brew  my  bridal  ale,  0 ; 

And  wha  will  welcome  my  bonnie  bride 
Is  mair  than  I can  tell,  0.” 


THE  LAIRD  O’  DRUM. 


191 


Four-and-twenty  gentlemen 

Gaed  in  at  the  yetts  of  Drum,  0 : 

But  no  a man  has  lifted  his  hat, 

When  the  Leddy  o’  Drum  cam’  in,  O. 

“ Peggy  Coutts  is  a very  bonny  bride, 

And  Drum  is  big  and  gawsy ; 

But  he  might  hae  chosen  a higher  match 
Than  ony  shepherd’s  lassie  ! ” 

Then  up  bespak  his  brither  John, 

Says,  “ Ye’ve  done  us  meikle  wrang,  0; 

Ye’ve  married  ane  far  below  our  degree, 

A mock  to  a’  our  kin,  0.” 

“Now  baud  your  tongue,  my  brither  John ; 

What  needs  it  thee  offend,  0 ? 

I’ve  married  a wife  to  work  and  win, 

And  ye’ve  married  ane  to  spend,  0. 

“ The  first  time  that  I married  a wife, 

She  was  far  abune  my  degree,  0 ; 

She  wadna  hae  walked  thro’  the  yetts  o’  Drum, 
But  the  pearlin’  abune  her  bree,  0, 

And  I durstna  gang  in  the  room  where  she  was, 
But  my  hat  below  my  knee,  0 ! ” 

He  has  ta’en  her  by  the  milk-white  hand, 

And  led  her  in  himsell,  0 ; 

And  in  through  ha’s  and  in  through  bowers,  — 

“ And  ye’re  welcome,  Leddy  Drum,  0.” 


192  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


When  they  had  eaten  and  well  drunken, 
And  a’  men  boun  for  bed,  0, 

The  Laird  of  Drum  and  his  Leddy  fair, 

In  ae  bed  they  were  laid,  0. 

“ Gin  ye  had  been  o’  high  renown, 

As  ye’re  o’  low  degree,  0, 

We  might  hae  baith  gane  doun  the  street 
Amang  gude  companie,  0.” 

“ I tauld  ye  weel  ere  we  were  wed, 

Ye  were  far  abune  my  degree,  0 ; 

But  now  I’m  married,  in  your  bed  laid, 
And  just  as  gude  as  ye,  0. 

“ For  an  I were  dead,  and  ye  were  dead, 
And  baith  in  ae  grave  had  lain,  0 ; 

Ere  seven  years  were  come  and  ganeK 
They’d  no  ken  your  dust  frae  mine,  0.” 


LIZIE  LINDSAY. 

u Will  ye  gae  to  the  Hielands,  Lizie  Lindsay, 
Will  ye  gae  to  the  Hielands  wi’  me  ? 

Will  ye  gae  to  the  Hielands,  Lizie  Lindsay, 
And  dine  on  fresh  curds  and  green  whey  ? ” 

Then  out  it  spak’  Lizie’s  mither, 

An’  a gude  auld  leddy  was  she  : 

“ Gin  ye  say  sic  a word  to  my  daughter, 

I’ll  gar  ye  be  hangit  hie  ! ” 


LIZIE  LINDSAY. 


193 


“Keep  weel  your  daughter  for  me,  madam  ; 
Keep  weel  your  daughter  for  me. 

I care  as  leetle  for  your  daughter 
As  ye  can  care  for  me  ! ” 

Then  out  spak’  Lizie’s  ain  maiden, 

An’  a bonnie  young  lassie  was  she  ; 
“Now  gin  I were  heir  to  a kingdom, 

Awa’  wi’  young  Donald  I’d  be.” 

“0  say  ye  sae  to  me,  Nelly  ? 

And  does  my  Nelly  say  sae  ? 

Maun  I leave  my  father  and  mither, 

Awa’  wi’  young  Donald  to  gae  ? ” 

And  Lizie’s  ta’en  till  her  her  stockings, 
And  Lizie’s  taen  till  her  her  shoon, 

And  kilted  up  her  green  claithing, 

And  awa’  wi’  young  Donald  she’s  gane. 

The  road  it  was  lang  and  was  weary ; 

The  braes  they  were  ill  for  to  climb ; 
Bonnie  Lizie  was  weary  wi’  travelling, 

A fit  further  couldna  she  win. 

“ 0 are  we  near  hame  yet,  dear  Donald  ? 

0 are  we  near  hame  yet,  I pray  ? ” 
“We’re  naething  near  hame,  bonnie  Lizie, 
Nor  yet  the  half  o’  the  way.” 


194  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 

Sair,  0 sair  was  she  sighing, 

And  the  saut  tear  blindit  her  e’e  : 

“ Gin  this  be  the  pleasures  o’  luving, 

They  never  will  do  wi’  me  ! ” 

“ Now  haud  your  tongue,  bonnie  Lizie  ; 

Ye  never  sail  rue  for  me  ; 

Gie  me  but  your  luve  for  my  ain  luve, 

It  is  a’  that  your  tocher  will  be. 

“ 0 haud  your  tongue,  bonnie  Lizie, 

Altho’  that  the  gait  seem  lang ; 

And  you’s  hae  the  wale  o’  gude  living 
When  to  Kincaussie  we  gang. 

u My  father  he  is  an  auld  shepherd, 

My  mither  she  is  an  auld  dey ; 

And  we’ll  sleep  on  a bed  o’  green  rashes, 
And  dine  on  fresh  curds  and  green  whey.” 

They  cam’  to  a hamely  puir  cottage ; 

The  auld  woman  ’gan  for  to  say  : 

“ 0 ye’re  welcome  hame,  Sir  Donald, 

It’s  yoursell  has  been  lang  away.” 

“Ye  mustna  ca’  me  Sir  Donald, 

But  ca’  me  young  Donald  your  son ; 

For  I hae  a bonnie  young  leddy 
Behind  me,  that’s  coming  alang. 


LIZIE  LINDSAY . 


195 


u Come  in,  come  in,  bonnie  Lizie, 

Come  hither,  come  hither/’  said  he  \ 

“ Altho’  that  our  cottage  be  leetle, 

I hope  we’ll  the  better  agree. 

“ 0 mak’  us  a supper,  dear  mither, 

And  mak’  it  o’  curds  and  green  whey  *, 

And  mak’  us  a bed  o’  green  rashes, 

And  cover  it  o’er  wi’  fresh  hay.” 

She’s  made  them  a bed  o’  green  rashes, 
And  covered  it  o’er  wi’  fresh  hay. 

Bonnie  Lizie  was  weary  wi’  travelling, 
And  lay  till  ’twas  lang  o’  the  day. 

“ The  sun  looks  in  o’er  the  hill-head, 

An’  the  laverock  is  liltin’  sae  gay ; 

Get  up,  get  up,  bonnie  Lizie, 

Ye’ve  lain  till  it’s  lang  o’  the  day. 

“ Ye  might  hae  been  out  at  the  shealin’, 
Instead  o’  sae  lang  to  lie  ; 

And  up  and  helping  my  mither 
To  milk  her  gaits  and  her  kye.” 

Then  sadly  spak’  out  Lizie  Lindsay, 

She  spak’  it  wi’  mony  a sigh : 

“ The  leddies  o’  Edinbro’  city 

They  milk  neither  gaits  nor  kye.” 

/ 


19G  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


“ Rise  up,  rise  up,  bonnie  Lizie, 

Rise  up  and  mak’  yoursel’  fine ; 

For  we  maun  be  at  Kineaussie, 

Before  that  the  clock  strikes  nine.” 

But  when  they  cam’  to  Kineaussie, 
The  porter  he  loudly  doth  say, 

“ 0 ye’re  welcome  hame,  Sir  Donald  ; 
It’s  yoursell  has  been  lang  away  ! ” 

It’s  doun  then  cam’  his  auld  mither, 
Wi’  a’  the  keys  in  her  han’ ; 

Saying,  “ Tak’  ye  these,  bonnie  Lizie, 
For  a’  is  at  your  comman’.” 


KATHARINE  JANFARIE. 

There  was  a may,  and  a weel-faur’d  may, 
Lived  high  up  in  yon  glen  : 

Her  name  was  Katharine  Janfarie, 

She  was  courted  by  mony  men. 

Doun  cam’  the  Laird  o’  Lamington, 

Doun  frae  the  South  Countrie ; 

And  he  is  for  this  bonny  lass, 

Her  bridegroom  for  to  be. 


KATHARINE  JANFARIE. 


197 


He  asked  na  her  father,  he  asked  na  her  mither, 
He  asked  na  ane  o’  her  kin  ; 

But  he  whispered  the  bonny  lassie  hersel’, 

And  did  her  favor  win. 

Doun  cani’  an  English  gentleman, 

Doun  frae  the  English  border ; 

And  he  is  for  this  bonnie  lass, 

To  keep  his  house  in  order. 

He  asked  her  father,  he  asked  her  mither, 

And  a’  the  lave  o’  her  kin ; 

But  he  never  asked  the  lassie  hersel’ 

Till  on  her  wedding-e’en. 

But  she  has  wrote  a lang  letter, 

And  sealed  it  wi’  her  han’ ; 

And  sent  it  away  to  Lamington, 

To  gar  him  understand 

The  first  line  o’  the  letter  he  read, 

He  was  baith  fain  and  glad ; 

But  or  he  has  read  the  letter  o’er, 

He’s  turned  baith  wan  and  sad. 

Then  he  has  sent  a messenger, 

To  rin  through  a’  his  land ; 

And  four  and  twenty  armed  men 
Were  sune  at  his  command. 


198  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


But  he  has  left  his  merry  men  all, 

Left  them  on  the  lee  ; 

And  he’s  awa’  to  the  wedding-house, 

To  see  what  he  could  see. 

They  all  rase  up  to  honor  him, 

For  he  was  of  high  renown ; 

They  all  rase  up  to  welcome  him, 

And  bade  him  to  sit  down. 

0 meikle  was  the  gude  red  wine 
In  silver  cups  did  flow ; 

But  aye  she  drank  to  Lamington, 

And  fain  with  him  wad  go. 

“ 0 come  ye  here  to  fight,  young  lord  ? 

Or  come  ye  here  to  play  ? 

Or  come  ye  here  to  drink  gude  wine 
Upon  the  wedding-day  ? ” 

“ I come  na  here  to  fight,”  he  said, 

“ I come  na  here  to  play  ; 

I’ll  but  lead  a dance  wi’  the  bonny  bride, 
And  mount  and  go  my  way.” 

He’s  caught  her  by  the  milk-white  hand, 
And  by  the  grass-green  sleeve ; 

He’s  mounted  her  hie  behind  himsel’, 

At  her  kinsfolk  spier’d  na  leave. 


GLEN  LOGIE. 


199 


It’s  up,  it’s  up  the  Couden  bank, 

It’s  doun  the  Couden  brae  ; 

And  aye  they  made  the  trumpet  soun , 
“ It’s  a’  fair  play  ! ” 

Now  a’  ye  lords  and  gentlemen 
That  be  of  England  born, 

Come  ye  na  doun  to  Scotland  thus, 

For  fear  ye  get  the  scorn  ! 

They’ll  feed  ye  up  wi’  flattering  words, 
And  play  ye  foul  play ; 

They’ll  dress  you  frogs  instead  of  fish 
Upon  your  wedding-day ! 


GLENLOGIE. 

Threescore  o’  nobles  rade  to  the  king’s  ha’, 

But  bonnie  Glenlogie’s  the  flower  o’  them  a’ ; 

Wi’  his  milk-white  steed  and  his  bonny  black  e’e, 

“ Glenlogie,  dear  mither,  Glenlogie  for  me  ! ” 

“ 0 haud  your  tongue,  dochter,  ye’ll  get  better  than  he.” 
“ 0 say  na  sae,  mither,  for  that  canna  be  ; 

Though  Drumlie  is  richer,  and  greater  than  he, 

Yet  if  I maun  lo’e  him,  I’ll  certainly  dee. 


200  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 

“ Where  will  I get  a bonny  boy,  to  win  hose  and  shoon, 
Will  gae  to  G-lenlogie,  and  come  again  soon  ? ” 

“ 0 here  am  I,  a bonny  boy,  to  win  hose  and  shoon, 

Will  gae  to  Glenlogie,  and  come  again  soon.” 

When  he  gaed  to  Glenlogie,  ’twas  “ Wash  and  go  dine,” 
’Twas  “ Wash  ye,  my  pretty  boy,  wash  and  go  dine.” 

“ 0 ’twas  ne’er  my  father’s  fashion,  and  it  ne’er  shall  be 
mine, 

To  gar  a lady’s  errand  wait  till  I dine. 

“ But  there  is,  Glenlogie,  a letter  for  thee.” 

The  first  line  he  read,  a low  smile  ga’e  he ; 

The  next  line  he  read,  the  tear  blindit  his  e’e  ; 

But  the  last  line  he  read,  he  gart  the  table  flee. 

u Gar  saddle  the  black  horse,  gar  saddle  the  brown  ; 

Gar  saddle  the  swiftest  steed  e’er  rade  frae  the  town ; ” 
But  lang  ere  the  horse  was  brought  round  to  the  green, 
0 bonnie  Glenlogie  was  twa  mile  his  lane. 

When  he  cam’  to  Glenfeldy’s  door,  sma’  mirth  was 
there ; 

Bonnie  Jean’s  mother  was  tearing  her  hair ; 

“ Ye’re  welcome,  Glenlogie,  ye’re  welcome,”  said  she 
“ Ye’re  welcome,  Glenlogie,  your  Jeanie  to  see.” 

Pale  and  wan  was  she,  when  Glenlogie  gaed  ben, 

But  red  rosy  grew  she  whene’er  he  sat  down ; 

She  turned  awa’  her  head,  but  the  smile  was  in  her  e’e ; 
66  O binna  feared,  mither,  I’ll  maybe  no  dee.” 


GET  UP  AND  BAP  THE  DOOB. 


201 


GET  UP  AND  BAR  THE  DOOR. 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmas  time, 

And  a gay  time  it  was  than, 

That  our  gudewife  had  puddings  to  mak’ 
And  she  boil’d  them  in  the  pan. 

The  wind  blew  cauld  frae  east  and  north, 
And  blew  intil  the  floor ; 

Quoth  our  gudeman  to  our  gudewife, 

“ Get  up  and  bar  the  door.” 

“ My  hand  is  in  my  hussyskep, 

Gudeman,  as  ye  may  see ; 

An  it  shou’dna  be  barr’d  this  hunder  year, 
It’s  ne’er  be  barr’d  by  me.” 

They  made  a paction  ’tween  them  twa, 
They  made  it  firm  and  sure, 

That  the  first  word  whaever  spak, 

Should  rise  and  bar  the  door. 

Than  by  there  came  twa  gentlemen, 

At  twelve  o’clock  at  night, 

Whan  they  can  see  na  ither  house, 

And  at  the  door  they  light. 


202  BOMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


“Now  whether  is  this  a rich  man’s  house, 
Or  whether  is  it  a poor  ? ” 

But  ne’er  a word  wad  ane  o’  them  speak, 
For  barring  of  the  door. 

And  first  they  ate  the  white  puddings, 
And  syne  they  ate  the  black : 

Muckle  thought  the  gudewife  to  hersell, 
Yet  ne’er  a word  she  spak. 

Then  ane  unto  the  ither  said, 

“ Here,  man,  tak  ye  my  knife ; 

Do  ye  tak  aff  the  auld  man’s  beard, 

And  I’ll  kiss  the  gudewife.” 

“ But  there’s  na  water  in  the  house, 

And  what  shall  we  do  than  ? ” 

“ What  ails  ye  at  the  pudding  bree 
That  boils  into  the  pan  ? ” 

0 up  then  started  our  gudeman, 

An  angry  man  was  he ; 

“ Will  ye  kiss  my  wife  before  my  een, 
And  scaud  me  wi’  pudding  bree  ? ” 

0 up  then  started  our  gudewife, 

Gied  three  skips  on  the  floor ; 

“ Gudeman,  ye’ve  spak  the  foremost  word ; 
Get  up  and  bar  the  door.” 


THE  LAWLANDS  O’  HOLLAND. 


203 


THE  LAWLANDS  O’  HOLLAND. 

“ The  luve  that  I hae  chosen, 

Til  therewith  be  content ; 

The  saut  sea  sail  be  frozen 
Before  that  I repent. 

Repent  it  sail  I never 
Until  the  day  I dee ; 

But  the  Lawlands  o’  Holland 
Hae  twinned  my  luve  and  me. 

“ My  luve  he  built  a bonny  ship, 

And  set  her  to  the  main, 

Wi?  twenty-four  brave  mariners 
To  sail  her  out  and  hame. 

But  the  weary  wind  began  to  rise, 
The  sea  began  to  rout, 

And  my  luve  and  his  bonny  ship 
Turned  withershins  about. 

“ There  sail  nae  mantle  cross  my  back. 
No  kaim  gae  in  my  hair, 

Sail  neither  coal  nor  candle-light 
Shine  in  my  bower  mair ; 

Nor  sail  I choose  anither  luve 
Until  the  day  I dee, 

Sin?  the  Lawlands  o’  Holland 
Hae  twinned  my  luve  and  me.” 


204  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


" Noo  haud  your  tongue,  my  daughter  dear, 
Be  still,  and  bide  content ; 

There  are  mair  lads  in  Galloway ; 

Ye  needna  sair  lament.” 

“ 0 there  is  nane  in  Galloway, 

There’s  nane  at  a’  for  me. 

I never  lo’ed  a lad  but  ane, 

And  he’s  drowned  i’  the  sea.” 


THE  TWA  COKBIES. 

As  I was  walking  all  alane, 

I heard  twa  corbies  making  a maen ; 

The  tane  into  the  t’ither  did  say, 

“ Whaur  shall  we  gang  and  dine  the  day  ? ” 

“ 0 doun  beside  yon  auld  fail  dyke, 

I wot  there  lies  a new-slain  knight ; 

Nae  living  kens  that  he  lies  there, 

But  his  hawk,  his  hound,  and  his  lady  fair. 

“ His  hound  is  to  the  hunting  gane, 

His  hawk  to  fetch  the  wildfowl  hame, 

His  lady’s  ta’en  another  mate, 

Sae  we  may  mak’  our  dinner  sweet. 

“ 0 we’ll  sit  on  his  white  hause  bane, 

And  I’ll  pyke  out  his  bonny  blue  e’en, 

Wi’  ae  lock  o’  his  gowden  hair, 

We’ll  theek  our  nest  when  it  blaws  bare. 


\ 


HELEN  OF  KIRCONNELL. 


205 


u Mony  a ane  for  him  makes  maen, 

But  nane  shall  ken  whaur  he  is  gane ; 
Over  his  banes  when  they  are  bare, 
The  wind  shall  blaw  for  evermair.” 


HELEN  OF  KIBCONNELL. 

I wad  I were  where  Helen  lies ; 

Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries ; 

0 that  I were  where  Helen  lies 
On  fair  Kireonnell  lea ! 

Curst  be  the  heart  that  thought  the  thought, 
And  curst  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot, 

When  in  my  arms  burd  Helen  dropt, 

And  died  to  succor  me  ! 

0 think  na  but  my  heart  was  sair 

When  my  Love  dropt  down  and  sp  ak  nae  mair ! 

1 laid  her  down  wi?  meikle  care 

On  fair  Kireonnell  lea. 

As  I went  down  the  water-side, 

Nane  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide, 

Nane  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide, 

On  fair  Kireonnell  lea ; 


206  BOMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


I lighted  down  my  sword  to  draw, 

I hacked  him  in  pieces  sma’, 

I hacked  him  in  pieces  sma’, 

For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 

0 Helen  fair,  beyond  compare ! 

Fll  make  a garland  of  thy  hair 
Shall  bind  my  heart  for  e verm  air 
Until  the  day  I dee. 

O that  I were  where  Helen  lies ! 

Hight  and  day  on  me  she  cries ; 

Out  of  my  bed  she  bids  me  rise, 

Says,  “ Haste  and  come  to  me  ! 99 

0 Helen  fair ! 0 Helen  chaste  ! 

If  I were  with  thee,  I were  blest, 
Where  thon  lies  low  and  takes  thy  rest 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

1 wad  my  grave  were  growing  green, 

A winding-sheet  drawn  ower  my  een, 
And  I in  Helen’s  arms  lying, 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

I wad  I were  where  Helen  lies ; 

Kight  and  day  on  me  she  cries ; 

And  I am  weary  of  the  skies, 

Since  my  Love  died  for  me. 


WALT  WALT. 


207 


WALY  WALY. 

0 waly  waly  up  the  bank, 

And  waly  waly  down  the  brae, 

And  waly  waly  yon  burn-side 
Where  I and  my  Love  wont  to  gae ! 

1 leant  my  back  unto  an  aik, 

I thought  it  was  a trusty  tree ; 

But  first  it  bow’d,  and  syne  it  brak, 

Sae  my  true  Love  did  lichtly  me. 

0 waly  waly,  but  love  be  bonny 
A little  time  while  it  is  new ; 

But  when  ’tis  auld,  it  waxeth  cauld 
And  fades  awa’  like  morning  dew. 

O wherefore  should  I busk  my  head  ? 

_ Or  wherefore  should  I kame  my  hair  ? 
For  my  true  Love  has  me  forsook, 

And  says  he’ll  never  loe  me  mair. 

Now  Arthur-seat  sail  be  my  bed ; 

The  sheets  sail  ne’er  be  prest  by  me : 
Saint  Anton’s  well  sail  be  my  drink, 

Since  my  true  Love  has  forsaken  me. 
Marti’mas  wind,  when  wilt  thou  blaw, 

And  shake  the  green  leaves  aff  the  tree  ? 
0 gentle  Death,  when  wilt  thou  come  ? 

For  of  my  life  I am  wearie. 


208  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS . 


’Tis  not  the  frost,  that  freezes  fell, 

Nor  blawing  snaw’s  inclemencie ; 

’Tis  not  sic  cauld  that  makes  me  cry, 

But  my  Love’s  heart  grown  cauld  to  me. 

When  we  came  in  by  Glasgow  town 
We  were  a comely  sight  to  see ; 

My  Love  was  clad  in  black  velvet, 

And  I mysell  in  cramasie. 

But  had  I wist,  before  I kist, 

That  love  had  been  sae  ill  to  win ; 

I had  lockt  my  heart  in  a case  of  gowd 
And  pinn’d  it  with  a siller  pin. 

And,  0 ! that  my  young  babe  were  born, 
And  set  upon  the  nurse’s  knee, 

And  I mysell  were  dead  and  gane, 

And  the  green  grass  growing  over  me ! 


LOBD  RONALD. 

“ 0 where  hae  ye  been,  Lord  Ronald,  my  son, 

0 where  hae  ye  been,  my  handsome  young  man  ? ” 

“ I hae  been  to  the  wild  wood ; mother,  make  my  bed  soon, 
For  I’m  weary  wi’  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie  down.” 

“ Where  gat  ye  your  dinner,  Lord  Ronald,  my  son  ? 

Where  gat  ye  your  dinner,  my  handsome  young  man  ? ” 
“ I dined  wi’  my  true-love ; mother,  make  my  bed  soon, 
For  I’m  weary  wi’  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie  down.” 


EDWARD,  EDWARD. 


209 


“ What  gat  ye  to  your  dinner,  Lord  Ronald,  my  son  ? 

What  gat  ye  to  your  dinner,  my  handsome  young 
man  ? ” 

“ I gat  eels  boil’d  in  broo’ ; mother,  make  my  bed  soon, 

For  I’m  weary  wi’  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie  down.” 

66  What  became  of  your  bloodhounds,  Lord  Ronald,  my 
son? 

What  became  of  your  bloodhounds,  my  handsome 
young  man  ? ” 

“ 0 they  swell’d  and  they  died ; mother,  make  my  bed 
soon, 

For  I’m  weary  wi’  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie  down.” 

“01  fear  ye  are  poison’d,  Lord  Ronald,  my  son ! 

0 I fear  ye  are  poison’d,  my  handsome  young  man ! ” 

“ 0 yes ! I am  poison’d ! mother,  make  my  bed  soon, 

For  I’m  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I fain  wald  lie  down.” 


EDWARD,  EDWARD. 

‘ Why  dois  your  brand  sae  drap  wi  bluid, 
Edward,  Edward  ? 

Why  dois  your  brand  sae  drap  wi  bluid, 
And  why  sae  sad  gang  yee  0 ? ’ 

6 0 I hae  killed  my  hauke  sae  guid, 
Mither,  mither, 

0 I hae  killed  riiy  hauke  sae  guid, 

And  I had  nae  mair  bot  hee  0.’ 


210  ROMANTIC  AND  DOMESTIC  BALLADS. 


‘ Your  haukis  bluid  was  nevir  sae  reid, 

Edward,  Edward, 

Your  haukis  bluid  was  nevir  sae  reid, 

My  deir  son,  I tell  thee  0/ 

6 O I hae  killed  my  reid-roan  steid, 

Mither,  mither, 

0 I hae  killed  my  reid-roan  steid, 

That  erst  was  sae  fair  and  frie  0.’ 

‘Your  steid  was  auld,  and  ye  hae  gat  mair, 

Edward,  Edward, 

Your  steid  was  auld,  and  ye  hae  gat  mair, 

Sum  other  dule  ye  drie  0/ 

6 0 I hae  killed  my  fadir  deir, 

Mither,  mither, 

0 I hae  killed  my  fadir  deir, 

Alas,  and  wae  is  mee  0 ! ’ 

6 And  whatten  penance  wul  ye  drie  for  that, 
Edward,  Edward  ? 

1 And  whatten  penance  wul  ye  drie  for  that  ? 

My  deir  son,  now  tell  me  (V 
‘ lie  set  my  f eit  in  yonder  boat, 

Mither,  mither, 

lie  set  my  feit  in  yonder  boat, 

And  He  fare  ovir  the  sea  O.’ 

( And  what  wul  ye  doe  wi  your  towirs  and  your  ha, 
Edward,  Edward  ? 

And  what  wul  ye  doe  wi  your  towirs  and  your  ha, 
That  were  sae  fair  to  see  0 ? ? 


EDWARD , EDWARD. 


211 


6 He  let  thame  stand  tul  they  doun  fa, 

Mither,  mither, 

lie  let  thame  stand  tul  they  doun  fa, 

For  here  nevir  mair  maun  I bee  (V 

‘ And  what  wul  ye  leive  to  your  bairns  and  your  wife, 
Edward,  Edward  ? 

And  what  wul  ye  leive  to  your  bairns  and  your  wife, 
When  ye  gang  ovir  the  sea  0 ? ; 

‘ The  warldis  room,  late  them  beg  thrae  life, 
Mither,  mither, 

The  warldis  room,  late  them  beg  thrae  life, 

For  thame  nevir  mair  wul  I see  0.? 

6 And  what  wul  ye  leive  to  your  ain  mither  deir, 
Edward,  Edward  ? 

And  what  wul  ye  leive  to  your  ain  mither  deir, 
My  deir  son,  now  tell  me  0.? 

‘ The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  ye  beir, 

Mither,  mither, 

The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  ye  beir, 

Sic  counseils  ye  gave  to  me  0.? 


NOTES, 


Page  3.  The  Wee  Wee  Man.  Mainly  after  Herd.  Given  also 
by  Motherwell,  Buchan,  and  Kinloch,  and  in  Caw’s  “ Poetical 
Museum.”  Shathmont,  a six  inch  measure.  Lap,  leaped.  Jimp , 
neat. 

P.4.  Tamlane.  Mainly  after  Aytoun’s  collated  version.  Stanzas 
16-19,  obtained  by  Scott  “ from  a gentleman  residing  near  Lang- 
holm,” are  too  modern  in  diction  to  harmonize  well  with  the  rest,  but 
are  retained  here  because  of  their  fidelity  to  the  ancient  beliefs  of  the 
country  folk  about  fairies.  Widely  varying  versions  are  given  in 
Johnson’s  “ Museum,”  communicated  by  Burns,  under  title  of  Tam 
Lin ; in  the  Glenriddell  MS.  under  title  of  Young  Tom  Line ; by  Herd, 
under  title  of  Kertonha , corruption  of  Carterhaugh ; by  Motherwell, 
under  titles  of  Young  Tamlin  and  Tomaline ; by  Buchan,  under  titles 
of  Tam-a-line  and  Tam  a-Lin ; and  in  the  Campbell  MS.  under  title  of 
Young  Tam  Lane.  There  are  humorous  Scottish  songs,  too,  of  Tam  o 
Lin , Tam  o the  Linn,  Tom  a Lin , and  Tommy  Linn.  The  ballad  is  of 
respectable  antiquity,  the  Tayl  of  the  Yong  Tamlene  and  the  dance  of 
Thom  of  Lyn  being  noticed  in  a work  as  old  as  the  “Complaynt 
of  Scotland  ” (1548);  yet  it  seems  to  have  no  Continental  cousins,  hut 
to  be  strictly  of  Scottish  origin.  It  belongs  to  Selkirkshire,  whose 
peasants  still  point  out  upon  the  plain  of  Carterhaugh,  about  a mile 
above  Selkirk,  the  fairy  rings  in  the  grass.  Preen'd , decked.  Gars , 
makes.  Bree , brow.  Sained , baptized.  Snell , keen.  Teind , tithe. 
Borrow , ransom.  Cast  a compass,  draw  a circle.  Elrish,  elvish.  Gin, 
if.  Maik,  mate.  Aske,  lizard.  Bale , fire.  But  and,  and  also.  Tree, 
wood.  Coft,  bought. 

P.  12.  True  Thomas.  Mainly  after  Scott.  This  is  one  of  the 
ballads  written  down  from  the  recital  of  the  “ good  Mrs.  Brown,”  to 
whose  admirable  memory  ballad-lovers  are  so  deeply  indebted.  It  is 
given  in  the  Brown  MS.  as  Thomas  Eymer  and  Queen  of  Elfland;  in 


214 


NOTES. 


the  Campbell  MS.  as  Thomas  the  Rhymer.  Scott  obtained  his  excel- 
lent version  from  “ a lady  residing  not  far  from  Ercildoune.”  This 
Thomas  the  Rhymer,  or  True  Thomas,  or  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  was 
a veritable  personage,  who  dwelt  in  the  village  of  Ercildoune  situate 
by  “ Leader's  silver  tide  ” some  two  miles  above  its  junction  with  the 
Tweed.  Tradition  has  it  that  his  date  was  the  thirteenth  century  and 
his  full  name  Thomas  Learmont.  He  was  celebrated  as  poet  and 
prophet,  the  rustics  believing  that  his  gift  of  soothsaying  was  im- 
parted by  the  Fairy  Queen,  who  kept  him  with  her  in  E 111  and  for 
seven  years,  permitting  him  then  to  return  to  the  upper  world  for  a 
season  and  utter  his  oracles,  but  presently  recalling  him  to  her  mys- 
terious court.  A fragmentary  old  poem,  showing  probable  traces,  as 
Jamieson  suggests,  of  the  Rhymer’s  own  authorship,  tells  this  famous 
adventure  in  language  whose  antiquated  form  cannot  disguise  its 
sweetness.  The  melancholy  likelihood  seems  to  be  that  True  Thomas 
was  a fibbing  Thomas,  after  all,  and  invented  this  story  of  his  sojourn 
in  Elfland  to  gain  credit  for  his  poetical  prophecies,  which  claim  to 
have  first  proceeded  from  the  mouth  of  the  Fairy  Queen,  when 

“ Scho  broghte  kym  agayne  to  Eldone  tree, 

Vndir  nethe  that  grenewode  spraye ; 

In  Huntlee  bannkes  es  mery  to  bee, 

Whare  fowles  synges  bothe  nyght  and  daye.” 

Ferlie , wonder.  Ilka  tett,  each  lock  (of  hair).  Routed , bowed.  Harp 
and  carp,  play  and  talk.  Leven,  lawn.  Stern-light,  star-light.  Doughty 
could. 

Page  15.  The  Elfin  Knight.  After  Aytoun’s  version  framed  by 
collation  from  copies  given  by  Motherwell,  Kinloch,  and  Buchan. 
These  were  in  the  main  recovered  by  recitation,  although  there  is  a 
broadside  copy  of  the  ballad  in  the  Pepysian  collection  at  Cambridge. 
Fragments  of  the  story  have  been  handed  down  in  tavern-songs  and 
nursery-rhymes,  and  it  is  to  be  found,  more  or  less  disguised,  in  the 
literatures  of  many  countries,  European  and  Asiatic.  It  is  only  in 
our  own  versions,  however,  that  the  outwitted  knight  is  a supernat- 
ural being,  usually  an  elf,  though  sometimes  degenerating  into  “ the 
Deil.”  Nowhere  out  of  canny  Scotland  does  his  ungallantry  debar 
him  from  the  human  ranks.  Sarky  shirt.  Gin,  if.  Tyne,  prong. 
Shear , reap.  Bigg , build.  Loof , hollow  of  the  hand.  But  (candle, 
etc.),  without  (candle,  etc.) 


NOTES. 


215 


Page  18.  Lady  Isobel  and  the  Elf-Knight.  Mainly  after 
Buchan’s  version  entitled  The  Water  o’  Wearie’s  Well , although  it  is 
in  another  version  given  by  Buchan,  under  title  of  The  Gowans  sae 
Gay , that  the  name  of  the  lady  is  disclosed,  and  the  elfin  nature  of 
the  eccentric  lover  revealed.  In  that  ballad  Lady  Isobel  falls  in  love 
with  the  elf-knight  on  hearing  him 

“ blawing  his  horn, 

The  first  morning  in  May,” 

and  this  more  tuneful  version  retains  in  the  first  two  stanzas  a fading 
trace  of  the  fairy  element  and  the  magic  music,  the  bird,  whose  song 
may  he  supposed  to  have  caused  the  lady’s  heart-ache,  being  possibly 
the  harper  in  elfin  disguise.  In  most  of  the  versions,  however,  the 
knight  is  merely  a human  knave,  usually  designated  as  Fause  Sir 
John,  and  the  lady  is  frequently  introduced  as  May  Colven  or  Colvin 
or  Collin  or  Collean,  though  also  as  Pretty  Polly.  The  story  is  widely 
circulated,  appearing  in  the  folk-songs  of  nearly  all  the  nations  of 
northern  and  southern  Europe.  It  has  been  suggested  that  the  popu- 
lar legend  may  be  “ a wild  shoot  from  the  story  of  Judith  and  Holo- 
f ernes.”  Doioie , doleful. 

P.  21.  Tom  Thumbe,  After  Ritson,  with  omissions.  Ritson 
prints  from  a manuscript  dated  1630,  the  oldest  copy  known  to  be  ex- 
tant, but  the  story  itself  can  be  traced  much  further  back  and  was 
evidently  a prime  favorite  with  the  English  rustics.  The  plain,  often 
doggerel  verse,  and  the  rough,  often  coarse  humor  of  this  ballad  make 
it  appear  at  striking  disadvantage  among  the  Scottish  folk-songs,  es- 
sentially poetic  as  even  the  rudest  of  them  are.  Tom  Thumbe,  it  must 
be  confessed,  is  but  a clumsy  sort  of  elf,  and  the  ballad  as  a whole  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  a fairy  atmosphere.  Yet  it  is  of  value  as  add- 
ing to  the  data  for  a comparison  between  the  English  and  the  Scottish 
peasantry,  as  throwing  light  on  the  fun-loving  spirit,  the  sports  and 
practical  joking  of  Merrie  England,  as  showing  the  tenacity  of  the 
Arthurian  tradition,  together  with  the  confusion  of  chivalric  memo- 
ries, as  displaying  the  ignorant  credulity  of  the  popular  mind  toward 
science  no  less  than  toward  history,  and  as  illustrating,  by  giving  us 
in  all  this  bald,  sing-song  run  of  verses,  here  and  there  a sweet  or 
dainty  fancy  and  at  least  one  stanza  of  exquisite  tenderness  and  grace, 
the  significant  fact  that  in  the  genuine  old  English  ballads  beauty  is 
not  the  rule,  but  the  surprise.  Counters , coin-shaped  pieces  of  metal, 


216 


NOTES. 


ivory,  or  wood,  used  in  reckoning.  Points,  here  probably  the  bits  of  tin 
plate  used  to  tag  the  strands  of  cotton  yarn  with  which,  in  lieu  of  but- 
tons, the  common  folk  fastened  their  garments.  The  points  worn  by 
the  nobles  were  laces  or  silken  strands  ornamented  with  aiglets  of 
gold  or  silver. 

Page  33.  Kempion.  After  Allingham’s  version  collated  from 
copies  given  by  Scott,  Buchan,  and  Motherwell,  with  a touch  or  two 
from  the  kindred  ballad  The  Laidley  Worm  of  Spindleston  Heugh. 
Buchan  and  Motherwell  make  the  name  of  the  hero  Kemp  Owyne. 
Similar  ballads  are  known  in  Iceland  and  Denmark,  and  the  main 
features  of  the  story  appear  in  both  the  classic  and  romantic  litera- 
tures. Weird,  destiny.  Dree,  suffer.  Borrowed , ransomed.  Arblast 
bow,  cross-bow.  Stythe,  place.  Touted,  bowed. 

P.  37.  Alison  Gross.  After  Jamieson’s  version  taken  from  the 
recitation  of  Mrs.  Brown.  Child  claims  that  this  tale  is  a variety  of 
Beauty  and  the  Beast.  Lemman,  lover.  Gar , make.  Toddle,  twine. 
Seely  Court,  Happy  Court  or  Fairy  Court.  See  English  Dictionary 
for  changes  of  meaning  in  silly. 

P.  39.  The  Wife  of  Usher’s  Well.  After  Scott,  with  a stanza  or 
two  from  Chambers,  both  versions  being  recovered  by  recitation. 
Although  this  is  scarcely  more  than  a fragment,  it  is  well-nigh  unsuiv 
passed  for  genuine  ballad  beauty,  the  mere  touches  of  narrative  sug- 
gesting far  deeper  things  than  they  actually  relate.  Martinmas,  tha 
eleventh  of  November.  Carline  wife,  old  peasant-woman.  Fashes % 
troubles.  Birk,  birch.  Syke,  marsh.  Sheugh,  trench.  Channerin\ 
fretting.  Gin,  if.  Byre,  cow-house. 

P.  41.  A Dyke- Wake  Dirge.  After  Scott.  This  dirge  belongs  to 
the  north  of  England  and  is  said  to  have  been  chanted,  in  Yorkshire, 
over  the  dead,  down  to  about  1624.  Lyke-Wake,  dead-watch.  Sleete, 
salt,  it  being  the  old  peasant  custom  to  place  a quantity  of  this  on  the 
breast  of  the  dead.  Whinny-muir,  Furze-moor.  A manuscript 
found  by  Ritson  in  the  Cotton  Library  states:  “ When  any  dieth,  cer- 
taine  women  sing  a song  to  the  dead  bodie,  recyting  the  journey  that 
the  party e deceased  must  goe;  and  they  are  of  belief e (such  is  their 
fondnesse)  that  once  in  their  lives,  it  is  good  to  give  a pair  of  new 
shoes  to  a poor  man,  for  as  much  as,  after  this  life,  they  are  to  pass 
barefoote  through  a great  launde,  full  of  thornes  and  furzen,  except 
by  the  meryte  of  the  almes  aforesaid  they  have  redemed  the  forfeyte; 
for,  at  the  edge  of  the  launde,  an  oulde  man  shall  meet  them  with  the? 


NOTES. 


217 


same  shoes  that  were  given  by  the  partie  when  he  was  lyving;  and, 
after  he  hath  shodde  them,  dismisseth  them  to  go  through  thick  and 
thin,  without  scratch  or  scalle.”  Brigg  o’  Dread , Bridge  of  Dread. 
Descriptions  of  this  Bridge  of  Dread  are  found  in  various  Scottish 
poems,  the  most  minute  being  given  in  the  legend  of  Sir  Oivain. 
Compare  the  belief  of  the  Mahometan  that  in  his  approach  to  the 
judgment-seat,  he  must  traverse  a bar  of  red-hot  iron,  stretched  across 
a bottomless  abyss,  true  believers  being  upheld  by  their  good  works, 
while  the  wicked  fall  headlong  into  the  gulf. 

Page  43.  Proud  Lady  Margaret.  After  Aytoun.  The  original 
versions  of  this  ballad,  as  given  by  Scott,  Buchan,  Dixon,  and  Laing, 
differ  widely.  It  is  known  under  various  titles,  The  Courteous  Knight , 
The  Jolly  Hind  Squire,  The  Knicht  o Archerdale,  Fair  Margret,  and 
Jolly  Janet.  Similar  ballads  are  rife  in  France,  although  in  these  it 
is  more  frequently  the  ghost  of  a dead  lady  who  admonishes  her  liv- 
ing lover.  Wale,  choose.  Ill-washen  feetf  etc.,  in  allusion  to  the 
custom  of  washing  and  dressing  the  dead  for  burial.  Feckless, 
worthless.  Pirie’s  chair  remains  an  unsolved  riddle  of  the  ballad, 
editors  and  commentators  not  being  as  good  at  guessing  as  the 
ghost. 

P.  48.  The  Twa  Sisters  o’  Binnorie.  Mainly  after  Aytoun. 
There  are  many  versions  of  this  ballad  in  Scotland,  England,  Wales 
and  Ireland,  varying  widely  in  titles,  refrains,  and  indeed  in  every- 
thing save  the  main  events  of  the  story.  A broadside  copy  appeared 
as  early  as  1656.  Ballads  on  the  same  subject  are  very  popular  among 
the  Scandinavian  peoples,  and  traces  of  the  story  are  found  as  far 
away  as  China  and  South  Africa.  Twined,  parted.  Make,  mate. 
Gar’d,  made.  Although  Lockhart  would  have  the  burden  pronounced 
Binnorie,  a more  musical  effect  is  secured  by  following  Jamieson  and 
pronouncing  Binnorie. 

P.  53.  The  Demon  Lover.  After  Scott.  Buchan  has  a version 
under  title  of  James  Herries,  the  demon  being  here  transformed  into  a 
lover  who  has  died  abroad  and  comes  in  spirit  guise  to  punish  his 
“ Jeanie  Douglas  ” for  her  broken  vows.  Motherwell  gives  a graphic 
fragment.  Ilka,  every.  Drumly,  dark.  Won , dwell. 

P.  56.  Riddles  Wisely  Expounded.  Mainly  after  Motherwell. 
There  are  several  broadsides,  differing  slightly,  of  this  ballad.  Rid- 
dling folk-songs  similar  to  this  in  general  features  have  been  found 
among  the  Germans  and  Russians  and  in  Gaelic  literature.  Speird, 


218 


NOTES. 


asked.  Unco,  uncanny.  Gin,  if.  Pies,  magpies.  Clootie,  see  Bums’s 
Address  to  the  Deil. 

“ O thou ! whatever  title  suit  thee, 

Auld  Hornie,  Satan,  Nick,  or  Clootie,”  etc. 

Page  61.  Sir  Patrick  Spens.  After  Scott.  There  are  many 

versions  of 

“ The  grand  old  ballad  of  Sir  Patrick  Spence,” 

as  Coleridge  so  justly  terms  it,  the  fragment  in  the  Beliques  being  un- 
surpassed among  them  all  for  poetic  beauty.  Herd’s  longer  copy,  like 
several  of  the  others,  runs  song-fashion : 

“ They  had  not  saild  upon  the  sea 
A league  but  merely  nine,  O, 

When  wind  and  weit  and  snaw  and  sleit 
Cam’  blawin’  them  bellin’,  O.” 

Motherwell  gives  the  ballad  in  four  forms,  in  one  of  them  the  skip- 
per being  dubbed  Sir  Patrick,  in  another  Earl  Patrick,  in  another 
Young  Patrick,  and  in  yet  another  Sir  Andrew  Wood.  Jamieson's 
version  puts  into  Sir  Patrick’s  mouth  an  exclamation  that  reflects  lit- 
tle credit  upon  his  sailor  character : 

“ O wha  is  this,  or  wha  is  that, 

Has  tald  the  king  o’  me  ? 

For  I was  never  a gude  seaman, 

Nor  ever  intend  to  be.” 

But  with  a few  such  trifling  exceptions,  the  tone  toward  the  skip- 
per is  universally  one  of  earnest  respect  and  sympathy,  the  keynote  of 
every  ballad  being  the  frank,  unconscious  heroism  of  this  “ gude  Sir 
Patrick  Spens.”  In  regard  to  the  foundation  for  the  story,  Scott 
maintains  that  “the  king’s  daughter  of  Noroway”  was  Margaret, 
known  to  history  as  the  Maid  of  Norway,  daughter  of  Eric,  king  of 
Norway,  and  of  Margaret,  daughter  of  Alexander  III.  of  Scotland. 
This  last-named  monarch  died  in  1285,  the  Maid  of  Norway,  his 
yellow-haired  little  granddaughter,  being  the  heiress  to  his  crown. 
The  Maid  of  Norway  died,  however,  before  she  was  of  age  to  assume 
control  of  her  turbulent  Scottish  kingdom.  Scott  surmises,  on  the 
authority  of  the  ballad,  that  Alexander,  desiring  to  have  the  little 
princess  reared  in  the  country  she  was  to  rule,  sent  this  expedition  for 
her  during  his  life-time.  No  record  of  such  a voyage  is  extant,  al- 


NOTES. 


219 


though  possibly  the  presence  of  the  king  is  a bold  example  of  poetic 
license,  and  the  reference  is  to  an  earlier  and  more  disastrous  em- 
bassy than  that  finally  sent  by  the  Regency  of  Scotland,  after  Alex- 
ander’s death,  to  their  young  queen,  Sir  Michael  Scott  of  wizard  fame 
being  at  that  time  one  of  the  ambassadors.  Finlay,  on  the  other  hand, 
places  this  ballad  in  the  days  of  James  III.,  who  married  Margaret  of 
Denmark.  Here  we  have  historic  testimony  of  the  voyage,  but  none 
of  the  shipwreck,  — yet  against  any  one  of  these  theories  the  natural 
objection  is  brought  that  so  lamentable  a disaster,  involving  so  many 
nobles  of  the  realm,  would  hardly  be  suffered  to  escape  the  pen  of  the 
chronicler.  Motherwell,  Maidment,  and  Aytoun,  relying  on  a corrob- 
orative passage  in  Fordun’s  Scotichronicon,  hold  with  good  appear- 
ance of  reason  that  the  ballad  pictures  what  is  known  as  an  actual 
shipwreck,  on  the  return  from  Norway  of  those  Scottish  lords  who 
had  escorted  thither  the  bride  of  Eric,  the  elder  Margaret,  afterward 
mother  of  the  little  Maid  of  Norway.  The  ballad  itself  well  bears 
out  this  theory,  especially  in  the  taunt  flung  at  the  Scottish  gallants 
for  lingering  too  long  in  nuptial  festivities  on  the  inhospitable  Nor- 
wegian coast.  The  date  of  this  marriage  was  1281.  SJceely , skilful. 
Gane,  sufficed.  Half-fou,  half-bushel.  Guriy , stormy. 

Page  65.  The  Battle  of  Otterburne.  After  Scott.  There  are 
several  Scottish  versions  of  this  spirit-stirring  ballad,  and  also  an  Eng- 
lish version,  first  printed  in  the  fourth  edition  of  the  Reliques.  The 
English  ballad,  naturally  enough,  dwells  more  on  the  prowess  of 
Percy  and  his  countrymen  in  the  combat  than  on  their  final  discom- 
fiture. A vivid  account  of  the  battle  of  Otterburne  may  be  found  in 
Froissart’s  Chronicles.  In  brief,  it  was  a terrible  slaughter  brought 
about  by  the  eager  pride  and  ambition  of  those  two  hot-blooded  young 
chieftains,  James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  and  the  redoubtable  Harry  Percy. 
Yet  the  generosity  of  the  leaders  and  the  devoted  loyalty  of  their  men 
throw  a moral  splendor  over  the  scene  of  bloodshed.  In  the  year 
1388  Douglas,  at  the  head  of  three  thousand  Scottish  spears,  made  a 
raid  into  Northumberland  and,  before  the  walls  of  Newcastle,  en- 
gaged Percy  in  single  combat,  capturing  his  lance  with  the  attached 
pennon.  Douglas  retired  in  triumph,  brandishing  his  trophy,  but  Hot- 
spur, burning  with  shame,  hurriedly  mustered  the  full  force  of  the 
Marches  and,  following  hard  upon  the  Scottish  rear,  made  anight  at- 
tack upon  the  camp  of  Douglas  at  Otterburne,  about  twenty  miles  from 
the  frontier.  Then  ensued  a moonlight  battle,  gallant  and  desperate, 


220 


NOTES . 


fought  on  either  side  with  unflinching  bravery,  and  ending  in  the  de- 
feat of  the  English,  Percy  being  taken  prisoner.  But  the  Scots 
bought  their  glory  dear  by  the  loss  of  their  noble  leader,  who,  when 
the  English  troops,  superior  in  number,  were  gaining  ground,  dashed 
forward  with  impetuous  courage,  cheering  on  his  men,  and  cleared  a 
way  with  his  swinging  battle-axe  into  the  heart  of  the  enemy’s  ranks. 
Struck  down  by  three  mortal  wounds,  he  died  in  the  midst  of  the 
fray,  urging  with  his  failing  breath  these  last  requests  upon  the  little 
guard  of  kinsmen  who  pressed  about  him:  “ First,  that  yee  keep  my 
death  close  both  from  our  owne  folke  and  from  the  enemy ; then,  that 
ye  suffer  not  my  standard  to  be  lost  or  cast  downe ; and  last,  that  ye 
avenge  my  death,  and  bury  me  at  Melrosse  with  my  father.  If  I could 
hope  for  these  things,”  he  added,  “ I should  die  with  the  greater  con- 
tentment ; for  long  since  I heard  a prophesie  that  a dead  man  should 
winne  a field,  and  I hope  in  God  it  shall  be  I.”  Lammas-tide,  the 
first  of  August.  Muirmen,  moormen.  Harried , plundered.  The  tane , 
the  one.  Felly  skin.  (The  inference  is  that  Percy  was  rescued  by  his 
men.)  Gin,  if.  Burn , brook.  Kale,  broth.  Fend,  sustain.  Bent , 
open  field.  P allions,  tents  (pavilions).  B ranking,  prancing.  War- 
gangs,  wagons.  Ayont , beyond.  Hewmont,  helmet.  Swakkit,  smote. 
Bracken,  fern. 

Page  71.  The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot.  After  Hearne,  who 
first  printed  it  from  a manuscript  in  the  Ashmolean  collection  ai  Ox- 
ford. It  was  next  printed  in  the  Reliques,  under  title  of  Chevy-Chase, 
— a title  now  reserved  for  the  later  and  inferior  broadside  version 
which  was  singularly  popular  throughout  the  seventeenth  century  and 
is  still  better  known  than  this  far  more  spirited  original.  “With  re- 
gard to  the  subject  of  this  ballad,”  — to  quote  from  Bishop  Percy, — 
“ although  it  has  no  countenance  from  history,  there  is  room  to  think 
it  had  originally  some  foundation  in  fact.  It  was  one  of  the  laws  of 
the  Marches,  frequently  renewed  between  the  nations,  that  neither 
party  should  hunt  in  the  other’s  borders,  without  leave  from  the  pro- 
prietors or  their  deputies.  There  had  long  been  a rivalship  between 
the  two  martial  families  of  Percy  and  Douglas,  which,  heightened  by 
the  national  quarrel,  must  have  produced  frequent  challenges  and 
struggles  for  superiority,  petty  invasions  of  their  respective  domains, 
and  sharp  contests  for  the  point  of  honour ; which  would  not  always 
be  recorded  in  history.  Something  of  this  kind,  we  may  suppose, 
gave  rise  to  the  ancient  ballad  of  the  Hunting  o’  the  Cheviot . Percy, 


NOTES . 


221 


Earl  of  Northumberland,  had  vowed  to  hunt  for  three  days  in  the 
Scottish  border,  without  condescending  to  ask  leave  from  Earl 
Douglas,  who  was  either  lord  of  the  soil,  or  lord  warden  of  the 
Marches.  Douglas  would  not  fail  to  resent  the  insult,  and  endeavour 
to  repel  the  intruders  by  force ; this  would  naturally  produce  a sharp 
conflict  between  the  two  parties ; something  of  which,  it  is  probable, 
did  really  happen,  though  not  attended  with  the  tragical  circum- 
stances recorded  in  the  ballad : for  these  are  evidently  borrowed  from 
the  Battle  of  Otterhourn,  a very  different  event,  but  which  aftertimes 
would  easily  confound  with  it.”  The  date  of  the  ballad  cannot,  of 
course,  be  strictly  ascertained.  It  was  considered  old  in  the  middle 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  being  mentioned  in  The  Complaynt  of  Scot- 
land (1548)  among  the  “sangis  of  natural  music  of  the  antiquite.” 
Not  much  can  he  said  for  its  “ natural  music,”  yet  despite  its  rough- 
ness of  form  and  enviable  inconsistencies  of  spelling,  it  has  always 
found  grace  with  the  poets.  Rare  Ben  Jonson  used  to  say  that  he 
would  rather  have  been  the  author  of  Chevy  Chase  than  of  all  his 
works ; Addison  honored  the  broadside  version  with  two  critiques  in 
the  Spectator;  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  though  lamenting  that  the  ballad 
should  be  “so  evil  apparrelled  in  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  that  un- 
civill  age,”  breaks  out  with  the  ingenuous  confession : “I  never  heard 
the  olde  song  of  Percy  and  Duglas  that  I found  not  my  heart  mooved 
more  then  with  a trumpet,  and  yet  is  it  sung  but  by  some  blinde 
crouder,  with  no  rougher  voice  then  rude  stile.”  M auger , despite. 
Let,  hinder.  Meany,  company.  Shyars,  shires.  Bomeriy  bowmen. 
Byckarte,  moved  quickly,  rattling  their  weapons.  Bent,  open  field. 
Aras,  arrows.  Wyld,  wild  creatures,  as  deer.  Shear , swiftly.  Grevis , 
groves.  Glent,  glanced,  flashed  by.  Oware  off  none , hour  of  noon. 
Mort,  death-signal  (as  used  in  hunting.)  Quyrry , quarry,  slaughtered 
game.  Bryttlynge,  cutting  up.  Wyste , knew.  Byll  and  brande,  axe 
and  sword.  Glede,  live  coal.  The  ton , the  one.  Yerle,  earl.  Cors, 
curse.  Nam , name.  Wat.  wot,  know.  Sloughe , slew.  Byddys , 
abides.  Wouche , injury.  Ost , host.  Suar , sure.  Many  a doughete 
the  garde  to  dy,  many  a doughty  (knight)  they  caused  to  die.  Bas- 
nites,  small  helmets.  Myneyeple,  maniple  (of  many  folds),  a coat  worn 
under  the  armor.  Freyke,  warrior.  Swapte,  smote.  Myllan,  Milan. 
Highty  promise.  Spendyd , grasped  (spanned).  Corsiare,  courser. 
Blane,  halted.  Dynte,  stroke.  Halyde , hauled.  Stoury  press  of  bat- 
tle. Dre , endure.  Hinde , gentle.  Hewyne  in  to , hewn  in  two.  The 


222 


NOTES. 


mcvyde  them  byears , they  made  them  biers.  Makys , mates.  Carpe 
off  care , tell  of  sorrow.  March  perti , the  Border  district.  Lyff-tenant , 
lieutenant.  TFeaJ,  clasp.  Brook , enjoy.  Quyte,  avenged.  TTiotf  tear 
begane  this  spurn,  that  wrong  caused  this  retaliation.  Beane,  rain. 
Ballys  bete,  sorrows  amend. 

Page  83.  Edom  o’ Gordon.  After  Aytoun.  This  ballad  was  first 
printed  at  Glasgow,  1755,  as  taken  down  by  Sir  David  Dalrymple 
“ from  the  recitation  of  a lady,”  and  was  afterwards  inserted  — “ in- 
terpolated and  corrupted,”  says  the  unappeasable  Bitson  — in  Percy’s 
Reliques.  Bitson  himself  published  a genuine  and  ancient  copy  from 
a manuscript  belonging  apparently  to  the  last  quarter  of  the  sixteenth 
century  and  preserved  in  the  Cotton  Library.  The  ballad  is  known 
under  two  other  titles,  Captain  Car  and  The  Burning  o’  Loudon  Cas- 
tle. Notwithstanding  this  inexactitude  in  names,  the  ballad  has  an 
historical  basis.  In  1571  Adam  Gordon,  deputy-lieutenant  of  the 
North  of  Scotland  for  Queen  Mary,  was  engaged  in  a struggle  against 
the  clan  Forbes,  who  upheld  the  Beformed  Faith  and  the  King’s 
party.  # Gordon  was  successful  in  two  sharp  encounters,  but  “what 
glory  and  renown  he  obtained  of  these  two  victories,”  says  the  con- 
temporary History  of  King  James  the  Sixth,  “ was  all  cast  down  by 
the  infamy  of  his  next  attempt;  for  immediately  after  this  last  con- 
flict he  directed  his  soldiers  to  the  castle  of  Towie,  desiring  the  house 
to  be  rendered  to  him  in  the  Queen’s  name;  which  was  obstinately  re- 
fused by  the  lady,  and  she  burst  forth  with  certain  injurious  words. 
And  the  soldiers  being  impatient,  by  command  of  their  leader,  Captain 
Ker,  fire  was  put  to  the  house,  wherein  she  and  the  number  of  twenty- 
seven  persons  were  cruelly  burnt  to  the  death.” 

Martinmas,  the  eleventh  of  November.  Hauld,  stronghold.  Toun, 
enclosed  place.  Buskit,  made  ready.  Light,  alighted.  But  and,  and 
also.  Dree,  suffer.  But  an,  unless.  Wude,  mad.  Dule,  pain.  Reek , 
smoke.  Nourice , nurse.  Jimp,  slender.  Row,  roll.  Tow,  throw. 
Busk  and  boun,  up  and  away.  Freits,  ill  omens.  Lowe,  blaze. 
Wichty,  sturdy.  Bent,  field.  Teenfu' , sorrowful.  Wroken,  avenged. 

P.  89.  Kinmont  Willie.  After  Scott.  This  dashing  ballad 
appeared  for  the  first  time  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy , having  been 
“preserved  by  tradition,”  says  Scott,  “on  the  West  Borders,  but 
much  mangled  by  reciters,  so  that  some  conjectural  emendations  have 
been  absolutely  necessary  to  render  it  intelligible.”  The  facts  in  the 
case  seem  to  be  that  in  1596  Salkeld,  deputy  of  Lord  Scroope,  English 


NOTES. 


223 


Warden  of  the  West  Marches,  and  Robert  Scott,  for  the  Laird  of 
Buccleuch,  Keeper  of  Liddesdale,  met  on  the  border  line  for  confer- 
ence in  the  interest  of  the  public  weal.  The  truce,  that  on  such  occa- 
sions extended  from  the  day  of  the  meeting  to  the  next  day  at  sunset, 
was  this  time  violated  by  a party  of  English  soldiers,  who  seized  upon 
William  Armstrong  of  Kinmonth,  a notorious  freebooter,  as  he,  at- 
tended by  but  three  or  four  men,  was  returning  from  the  conference, 
and  lodged  him  in  Carlisle  Castle.  The  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  after 
treating  in  vain  for  his  release,  raised  two  hundred  horse,  surprised 
the  castle  and  carried  off  the  prisoner  without  further  ceremony.  This 
exploit  the  haughty  Queen  of  England  “ esteemed  a great  affront  ” 
and  “ stormed  not  a little  ” against  the  “ bauld  Buccleuch.”  Haribee , 
the  place  of  execution  at  Carlisle.  Liddel-rack,  a ford  on  the  Liddel. 
Reiver , robber.  Hostelrie,  inn.  Rawing , reckoning.  Garr’d,  made. 
Basnet , helmet.  Curch,  cap.  Lightly , set  light  by.  Low , blaze. 
Splent  on  spauld,  armor  on  shoulder.  Woodhonselee , a house  belong- 
ing to  Buccleuch,  on  the  Border.  Herry , harry,  spoil.  Corbie , crow. 
Wons,  dwells.  Lear,  lore.  Row-footed,  rough-footed  (?).  Spait,  flood. 
Garr'd,  made.  Stear,  stir.  Coulters , ploughshares.  Forehammers , 

the  large  hammers  that  strike  before  the  small,  sledgehammers. 
Fley’d,  frightened.  Spier , inquire.  Hente,  caught.  Maill , rent. 

Aims , irons.  Wood,  mad.  Furs , furrows.  Trew , trust. 

Page  97.  King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury.  After 
Percy,  who  printed  from  an  ancient  black-letter  copy.  There  are 
three  other  broadside  versions  of  this  popular  ballad  extant,  and  at 
least  one  older  version  has  been  lost.  Similar  riddle-stories  are  to  be 
found  in  almost  all  European  literatures.  There  is  nothing  in  this 
ballad  save  the  name  of  King  John,  with  his  reputation  for  unjust  and 
high-handed  dealing,  that  can  be  called  traditional.  Deere , harm. 
Stead , place.  St.  Bittel , St.  Botolph  (?). 

P.  101.  Robiu  Hood  Rescuing  the  Widow’s  Three  Sons. 
After  Ritson,  who  has  collected  in  two  volumes  the  ballads  of  Robin 
Hood.  This  is  believed  to  be  one  of  the  oldest  of  them  all.  A con- 
cise introduction  to  the  Robin  Hood  ballads  is  given  by  Mr.  Hales  in 
the  Percy  Folio  MS.  vol.  i.  This  legendary  king  of  Sherwood  Forest 
is  more  rightfully  the  hero  of  English  song  than  his  splendid  rival,  the 
Keltic  King  Arthur, 

“ whose  name,  a ghost, 

Streams  like  a cloud,  man-shaped,  from  mountain  peak, 

And  cleaves  to  cairn  and  cromlech  still.” 


224 


NOTES. 


Yet  there  is  scarcely  less  doubt  as  to  the  actual  existence  of  a flesh- 
and-blood  Robin  Hood  than  there  is  as  to  the  actual  existence  of  a 
flesh-and-blood  King  Arthur.  But  let  History  look  to  her  own;  Lit- 
erature need  have  no  scruple  in  claiming  both  the  archer-prince  of 
outlaws  and  the  blameless  king  of  the  Table  Round.  Robber  chief- 
tain or  democratic  agitator,  romantic  invention  or  Odin-myth,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  by  the  fourteenth  century  Robin  Hood  was  a familiar  figure 
in  English  balladry.  We  have  our  first  reference  to  this  generous- 
hearted  rogue  of  the  greenwood,  who  is  supposed  by  Ritson  to  have 
lived  from  1160  to  1247,  in  Langlande’s  Piers  Ploughman  (1362). 
There  are  brief  notices  of  the  popular  bandit  in  Wyntoun’s  Scottish 
Chronicle  (1420),  Fordun’s  Scotichronicon  (1450),  and  Mair’s  Historia 
Majoris  Brittanix  (1521).  Famous  literary  allusions  occur  in  Lati- 
mer’s Sixth  Sermon  before  Edward  VI.  (1548),  in  Drayton’s  Polyolbion 
(1613),  and  Fuller’s  Worthies  of  England  (1662).  The  Robin  Hood 
ballads  illustrate  to  the  full  the  rough  and  heavy  qualities,  both  of 
form  and  thought,  that  characterize  all  our  English  folk-songs  as  op- 
posed to  the  Scottish.  We  feel  the  difference  instantly  when  a min- 
strel from  over  the  Border  catches  up  the  strain ; 

“ There’s  mony  ane  sings  o’  grass,  o’  grass, 

And  mony  ane  sings  o’  corn; 

And  mony  ane  sings  o’  Robin  Hood, 

Kens  little  whar’  he  was  born. 

“ It  was  na’  in  the  ha’,  the  ha’, 

Nor  in  the  painted  bower; 

But  it  was  in  the  gude  greenwood, 

Amang  the  lily  flower.” 

Yet  these  rude  English  ballads  have  just  claims  on  our  regard. 
They  stand  our  feet  squarely  upon  the  basal  rock  of  Saxon  ethics, 
they  breathe  a spirit  of  the  sturdiest  independence,  and  they  draw,  in 
a few  strong  strokes,  so  fresh  a picture  of  the  joyous,  fearless  life  led 
under  the  green  shadows  of  the  deer-haunted  forest  by  that  memora- 
ble band,  bold  Robin  and  Little  John,  Friar  Tuck  and  George  a 
Green,  Will  Scarlett,  Midge  the  Miller’s  Son,  Maid  Marian  and  the 
rest,  that  we  gladly  succumb  to  a charm  recognized  by  Shakespeare 
himself:  “ They  say  he  is  already  in  the  forest  of  Arden,  and  a many 
merry  men  with  him ; and  there  they  live  like  the  old  Robin  Hood  of 
England;  they  say  many  young  gentlemen  flock  to  him  everyday, 


NOTES. 


225 


and  fleet  the  time  carelessly,  as  they  did  in  the  golden  world.”  — As 
You  Like  It. 

Page  106.  Robin  Hood  and  Allin  A Dale.  After  Ritson.  This 
ballad  is  first  found  in  broadside  copies  of  the  latter  half  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  Lin,  pause. 

P.  111.  Robin  Hood’s  Death  and  Burial.  After  Ritson,  who 
made  his  version  from  a collation  of  two  copies  given  in  a York  gar- 
land. 

P.  117.  Annie  of  Liochroyan.  After  Aytoun,  who  improves  on 
Jamieson’s  version.  This  beautiful  ballad  is  given  in  varying  forms 
by  Herd,  Scott,  Buchan,  and  others.  Lochroyan,  or  Loch  Ryan,  is  a 
bay  on  the  south-west  coast  of  Scotland.  Jimp,  slender.  Gin,  if. 
Greet , cry.  TirVd,  rattled.  But  and , and  also.  Warlock , wizard. 
Sinsyne,  since  then.  Hooly,  slowly.  Beid,  death.  Syne,  then. 

P.  123.  Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet.  After  Aytoun,  who 
adds  to  the  first  twenty-four  stanzas  of  the  copy  given  in  the  Reliques 
a concluding  fourteen  taken  from  J amieson’s  Sweet  Willie  and  Fair 
Annie.  The  unfortunate  lady  elsewhere  figures  as  The  JSfut-Broivn 
Bride  and  Fair  Ellinor.  There  are  Norse  ballads  which  relate  some- 
thing akin  to  the  same  story.  Gif , if.  Rede , counsel.  Owsen,  oxen. 
Billie , an  affectionate  term  for  brother.  Byre , cow-house.  Fadge, 
clumsy  woman.  Sheen , shoes.  Tift,  whiff.  Gin,  if.  Cleiding,  cloth- 
ing. Bruik,  enjoy.  Kist,  chest.  Lee,  lonesome.  Till,  to.  Bowie, 
doleful.  Sank,  shroud.  But  and,  and  also.  Birk,  birch. 

P.  129.  The  Banks  o’  Yarrow.  After  Allingham’s  collated 
version.  There  are  many  renderings  of  this  ballad,  which  Scott  de- 
clares to  be  a great  favorite  among  the  peasantry  of  the  Ettrick  forest, 
who  firmly  believe  it  founded  on  fact.  The  river  Yarrow,  so  favored 
of  the  poets,  flows  through  a valley  in  Selkirkshire  and  joins  the 
Tweed  above  the  town  of  Selkirk.  The  Tennies  is  a farm  below  the 
Yarrow  kirk.  Lawing,  reckoning.  Rawing,  dawn.  Marrow,  mate. 
Bowie,  doleful.  LeafiC,  lawful.  Binna,  be  not. 

P.  133.  The  Douglas  Tragedy.  After  Scott.  This  ballad  is 
[likewise  known  under  titles  of  Earl  Brand,  Lady  Margaret  and  The 
Child  of  Ell.  Danish,  Swedish,  Norwegian  and  Icelandic  ballads  re- 
late a kindred  story,  and  the  incident  of  the  intertwining  plants  that 
spring  from  the  graves  of  hapless  lovers,  occurs  in  the  folk-lore  of 
almost  all  peoples.  Bugelet,  a small  bugle.  Bighted,  strove  to 
stanch.  Plat,  intertwined,. 


226 


NOTES. 


Page  136.  Fine  Flowers  i’  the  Valley.  After  Aytoun,  his 
version,  though  taken  down  from  recitation,  being  in  reality  a com- 
pound of  Herd’s  and  Jamieson’s.  Aytoun  claims  that  “ this  is  per- 
haps the  most  popular  of  all  the  Scottish  ballads,  being  commonly 
recited  and  sung  even  at  the  present  day.”  Different  refrains  are 
often  employed,  and  the  ballad  is  frequently  given  under  title  of  The 
Cruel  Brother.  Stories  similar  to  this  are  found  in  the  balladry  of 
both  northern  and  southern  Europe.  Marroiv,  mate.  Close , avenue 
leading  from  the  door  to  the  street.  Louting,  bowing.  Its  lane , 
alone. 

P.  140.  The  Gay  Goss-Hawk.  Mainly  after  Motherwell,  al- 
though his  version  is  entitled  The  Jolly  Goshawk.  The  epithet  Gay 
has  the  sanction  of  Scott  and  Jamieson.  Buchan  gives  a rendering  of 
this  ballad  under  title  of  The  Scottish  Squire.  Whin , furze.  Bigly , 
spacious.  Sark,  shroud.  Claith,  cloth.  Steeking , stitching.  Gar’d, 
made.  Chive,  morsel.  Skaith,  harm. 

P.  145.  Young  Redin.  After  Allingham's  collated  copy.  There 
are  many  versions  of  this  ballad,  the  hero  being  variously  known 
as  Young  Hunting,  Earl  Bichard,  Lord  William,  Lord  John  and 
Young  Bedin.  BirVd,  plied.  Douk,  dive.  Weil-head , eddy.  Linn, 
the  pool  beneath  a cataract.  Brin , burn.  Balefire , bonfire. 

P.  150.  Willie  and  May  Margaret.  After  Allingham’s  copy 
framed  by  collating  Jamieson’s  fragmentary  version  with  Buchan’s 
ballad  of  The  Drowned  Lovers.  Stour,  wild.  Pot , a pool  in  a river. 
Dowie  den,  doleful  hollow.  Tirled,  rattled.  Steeked,  fastened.  Brae, 
hillside.  Sowm,  swim.  Minnie , affectionate  term  for  mother. 

P.  155.  Young  Beichan.  Mainly  after  Jamieson,  his  version 
being  based  upon  a copy  taken  down  from  the  recitation  of  the  inde- 
fatigable Mrs.  Brown  and  collated  with  a manuscript  and  stall  copy, 
both  from  Scotland,  a recited  copy  from  the  North  of  England,  and  a 
short  version  “picked  off  an  old  wall  in  Piccadilly.”  Of  this  ballad 
of  Young  Beichan  there  are  numerous  renderings,  the  name  of  the 
hero  undergoing  many  variations,  — Bicham,  Brechin,  Beachen, 
Bekie,  Bateman,  Bondwell  — and  the  heroine,  although  Susie  Pye  or 
Susan  Pye  in  ten  of  the  fourteen  versions,  figuring  also  as  Isbel, 
Essels,  and  Sophia.  It  was  probably  an  English  ballad  at  the 
start,  but  bears  the  traces  of  the  Scottish  minstrels  who  were  doubt- 
less prompt  to  borrow  it.  There  is  likelihood  enough  that  the  ballad 
was  originally  suggested  by  the  legend  of  Gilbert  Becket,  father  of 


NOTES. 


227 


the  great  archbishop ; the  story  running  that  Becket,  while  a captive 
in  Holy  Land,  plighted  his  troth  to  the  daughter  of  a Saracenic  prince. 
When  the  crusader  had  made  good  his  escape,  the  lady  followed  him, 
inquiring  her  way  to  “England  ” and  to  “ London,”  where  she  wan- 
dered up  and  down  the  streets,  constantly  repeating  her  lover’s  name, 
“Gilbert,”  the  third  and  last  word  of  English  that  she  knew,  until 
finally  she  found  him,  and  all  her  woes  were  put  to  flight  by  the  peal 
of  wedding  bells.  Termagant , the  name  given  in  the  old  romances  to 
the  God  of  the  Saracens.  Pine,  pain.  Sheave,  slice.  But  and , and 
also.  Dreed,  endured. 

Page  162.  Gilderoy.  After  the  current  version  adapted  from  the 
original  by  Sir  Alexander  Halket  or  his  sister,  Lady  Elizabeth 
Wardlaw,  the  composer  of  Hardy knute.  There  is  extant  a black- 
letter  broadside  printed  in  England  as  early  as  1650,  and  the  ballad 
appears  in  several  miscellanies  of  later  date.  The  reviser  added  the 
sixth,  seventh,  and  eighth  stanzas.  It  is  mortifying  to  learn  that 
this  “ winsome  Gilderoy  ” — the  name,  properly  Gillie  roy,  signifying 
in  Gaelic  “the  red-haired  lad”  — was  in  reality  one  Patrick  Mac- 
Gregor, who  was  hanged  at  the  cross  of  Edinburgh,  1638,  as  a common 
cateran  or  free-booter.  That  the  romantic  element  in  the  ballad  so 
outweighs  the  historical,  must  account  for  its  classification  here. 
Soy,  silk.  Cess,  black-mail.  Gear,  property. 

P.  166.  Bonny  Barbara  Allan.  After  the  version  given  in 
Ramsay’s  Tea-Table  Miscellany  and  followed  by  Herd,  Ritson,  and 
others.  Percy  prints  with  this  in  the  Reliqnes  a longer,  but  poorer 
copy.  In  Pepys’s  Diary,  Jan.  2, 1666,  occurs  an  allusion  to  the  “ little 
Scotch  song  of  Barbary  Allen.”  Gin,  if.  Hooly,  slowly.  Joiv,  knell. 

P.  168.  The  Gardener.  After  Kinloch.  Buchan  gives  a longer, 
but  less  valuable  version.  Jimp,  slender.  Weed,  dress.  Camorine, 
camomile.  Kail-blade,  cabbage-leaf.  Cute , ankle.  Brawn,  calf. 

Blaewort , witch  bells. 

P.  169.  Etin  the  Forester.  Collated.  No  single  version  of  this 
ballad  is  satisfactory,  not  Kinloch’s  fine  fragment,  Hynde  Etin, 
nor  Buchan’s  complete  but  inferior  version,  Young  Akin,  nor  the 
modernized  copy,  Young  Hastings,  communicated  by  Buchan  to 
Motherwell.  Earlier  and  better  renderings  of  the  ballad  have  doubt- 
less been  lost.  In  the  old  Scottish  speech,  an  Etin  signified  an  ogre 
or  giant,  and  although  the  existing  versions  show  but  faint  traces  of  a 
supernatural  element,  it  is  probable  that  the  original  character  of  the 


228 


NOTES. 


story  has  been  changed  by  the  accidents  of  tradition,  and  that  the 
Etin  was  at  the  outset  in  line  with  such  personages  as  Arnold’s  For- 
saken Merman.  In  the  beautiful  kindred  ballads  which  abound  in 
the  Norse  and  German  literatures,  the  Etin  is  sometimes  represented 
by  a merman,  though  usually  by  an  elf-king,  dwarf-king,  or  hill-king. 
Hind  chiel,  young  stripling.  Spier , ask.  Bigg,  build.  Their  lane , 
alone.  Brae,  hillside.  Gars , makes.  Greet,  weep.  Stown,  stolen. 
Laverock,  lark.  Lift,  air.  Buntin\  blackbird.  Christendame , 
christening.  Ben,  in.  Shaiv,  forest.  Louted, bowed.  Bonn’,  go. 

Page  177.  Lamkin.  After  Jamieson.  The  many  versions  of 
this  ballad  show  an  unusually  small  number  of  variations.  The 
name,  though  occurring  in  the  several  forms  of  Lambert  Linkin, 
Lamerlinkin,  Rankin,  Belinkin,  Lankyn,  Lonkin,  Balcanqual,  most 
often  appears  as  Lamkin  or  Lammikin  or  Lambkin,  being  perhaps  a 
nick-name  given  to  the  mason  for  the  meekness  with  which  he  had 
borne  his  injuries.  This  would  explain  the  resentful  tone  of  his  in- 
quiries on  entering  the  house.  Nourice,  nurse.  Limmer , wretch. 
Shot-ivindoio,  projecting  window.  Gaire,  edge  of  frock.  Ilka,  each. 
Bore,  crevice.  Greeting,  crying.  Bowie,  doleful.  Chamer,  chamber. 
Lamer,  amber.  Ava’,  of  all. 

P.  182.  Hugh  of  Lincoln.  Mainly  after  Jamieson.  Percy 
gives  a versioji  of  this  famous  ballad  under  title  of  The  Jew’s  Daugh- 
ter, and  Herd  and  Motherwell,  as  well  as  Jamieson,  have  secured 
copies  from  recitation.  The  general  view  that  this  ballad  rests  upon 
an  historical  basis  has  but  slender  authority  behind  it.  Matthew 
Paris,  never  too  reliable  as  a chronicler,  says  that  in  1255  the  J ews  of 
Lincoln,  after  their  yearly  custom,  stole  a little  Christian  boy,  tor- 
tured and  crucified  him,  and  flung  him  into  a pit,  where  his  mother 
found  the  body.  This  is  in  all  probability  one  of  the  many  cruel 
slanders  circulated  against  the  Jews  during  the  Middle  Ages,  to  rec- 
oncile the  Christian  conscience  to  the  Christian  maltreatment  of  that 
long-suffering  race.  Such  stories  are  related  of  various  mediaeval 
innocents,  in  various  lands  and  centuries,  and  may  be  classed  together, 
until  better  evidence  to  the  contrary  presents  itself,  as  malicious 
falsehood.  This  ballad  should  be  compared,  of  course,  with  Chaucer’s 
Prioresses  Tale.  Keppit , caught.  Gart,  made.  Twinn’d , deprived. 
Roio’d,  rolled.  Ilka , each.  Gin,  if. 

P.  185.  Fair  Annie.  Mainly  after  Jamieson’s  version  entitled 
Lady  Jane.  Jamieson  gives  another  copy,  where  the  heroic  lady 


NOTES. 


229 


is  known  as  Burd  Helen,  but  Scott,  Motherwell,  Kinloch,  Buchan, 
and  others  agree  on  the  name  Fair  Annie.  The  pathetic  beauty 
of  the  ballad  has  secured  it  a wide  popularity.  There  are  Dan- 
ish, Swedish,  Dutch,  and  German  versions.  “ But  Fair  Annie’s 
fortunes  have  not  only  been  charmingly  sung,”  says  Professor  Child. 
“They  have  also  been  exquisitely  told  in  a favorite  lay  of  Marie  de 
France,  ‘ Le  Lai  del  Freisne.’  This  tale  of  Breton  origin  is  three 
hundred  years  older  than  any  manuscript  of  the  ballad.  Comparison 
will,  however,  quickly  show  that  it  is  not  the  source  either  of  the 
English  or  of  the  Low  German  and  Scandinavian  ballad.  The  tale 
and  the  ballads  have  a common  source,  which  lies  further  back,  and 
too  far  for  us  to  find.”  Your  lane , alone.  Braw,  finely  dressed. 
Gear , goods.  But  and , and  also.  Stown , stolen.  Leugh , laughed. 
Loot , let.  Gars,  makes.  Greet , weep. 

Page  189.  The  Laird  o’  Drum.  After  Aytoun’s  collated  version. 
Copies  obtained  from  recitation  are  given  by  Kinloch  and  Buchan. 
The  eccentric  Laird  o’  Drum  was  an  actual  personage,  who,  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  mortified  his  aristocratic  relatives  and  delighted 
the  commons  by  marrying  a certain  Margaret  Coutts,  a woman  of 
lowly  rank,  his  first  wife  having  been  a daughter  of  the  Marquis  of 
Huntly.  The  old  shepherd  speaks  in  the  Aberdeen  dialect.  Weel- 
faur’d,  well-favored.  Gin,  if.  Speer,  ask.  Kebbuck,  cheese.  Yetts, 
gates.  Gawsy,  portly.  But  the  pearlin’  abune  her  bree , without  the 
lace  above  her  brow. 

P.  192.  Lizie  Lindsey.  After  Jamieson.  Complete  copies  are 
given  by  Buchan  and  Whitelaw,  also.  Till,  to.  Braes,  hills.  Fit, 
foot.  Gin,  if.  Tocher , dowry.  Gait , way.  Wale,  choice.  Bey, 
dairy-woman.  Laverock,  lark.  LiltivD , carolling.  Shealin’,  sheep- 
shed.  Gaits  and  kye,  goats  and  cows. 

P.  196.  Katharine  Janfarie.  Mainly  after  Motherwell’s  ver- 
sion entitled  Catherine  Johnstone.  Other  renderings  are  given  by 
Scott,  Maidment,  and  Buchan.  In  Scott’s  version  the  name  of  the 
English  suitor  is  Lord  Lochinvar,  and  both  name  and  story  the  thiev- 
ing poet  has  turned,  as  everybody  knows,  to  excellent  account.  The  two 
closing  stanzas  here  seem  to  betray  the  hand  of  an  English  balladist. 
Weel-faur’d,  well-favored.  Lave,  rest.  Spier’d,  asked.  Brae,  hill. 

P.  199.  Glenlogie.  After  Smith’s  version  in  the  Scottish  Min- 
strel,— a book  wherein  “ great  liberties,”  Motherwell  claims,  have 
been  taken  with  ancient  lays.  A rough  but  spirited  version  is  given 
by  Sharpe,  and  a third  by  Bnohap.  Gar,  make.  His  lane,  alone. 


230 


NOTES. 


Page  201.  Get  up  and  Bar  the  Door.  After  Herd.  This  bal- 
lad appears,  too,  in  Johnson’s  Museum  and  Ritson’s  Scottish  Songs. 
Martinmas , the  eleventh  of  November.  Intil,  into.  Hussyskep, 
house-keeping.  Bree,  broth.  Scaud , scald. 

P.  203.  The  Lawlands  o’  Holland.  After  Herd.  Another 
version,  longer  and  poorer,  occurs  in  Johnson’s  Museum.  Wither- 
shins,  the  wrong  way.  Twinned , parted. 

P.  204.  The  Twa  Corbies.  After  Scott,  who  received  it  from 
Mr.  C.  K.  Sharpe,  “ as  written  down,  from  tradition,  by  a lady.” 
This  seems  to  be  the  Scottish  equivalent  of  an  old  English  poem,  The 
Three  Ravens,  given  by  Ritson  in  his  Ancient  Songs.  Corbies , ravens. 
Fail , turf.  Kens,  knows.  Hause,  neck.  Fyke,  pick.  Theek,  thatch. 

P.  205.  Helen  of  Kirconnell.  After  Scott.  Other  versions 
are  given  by  Herd,  Ritson,  and  Jamieson.  There  is  said  to  be  a tra- 
ditional basis  for  the  ballad,  and  the  grave  of  the  lovers,  Adam  Flem- 
ing and  Helen  Irving  (or  Helen  Bell),  is  still  pointed  out  in  the 
churchyard  of  Kirconnell,  near  Springkell.  Burd,  lady. 

P.  207.  Waly  Waly.  After  Ramsay,  being  first  published  in  the 
Tea-Table  Miscellany.  These  touching  and  tender  stanzas  have  been 
pieced  by  Chambers  into  the  patchwork  ballad,  Lord  Jamie  Douglas, 
but  evidently  it  is  not  there  that  they  belong.  Waly,  a cry  of  lamenta- 
tion. Brae,  hillside.  Burn,  brook.  Syne,  then.  Lichtly,  slight.  Busk , 
adorn.  Marti1  mas , November.  Fell,  bitterly.  Cramasie,  crimson. 

P.  208.  Lord  Ronald.  After  Scott’s  version  entitled  Lord 
Randal.  Scott  adopts  this  name  because  he  thinks  the  ballad  may 
originally  have  had  reference  to  the  death  of  Thomas  Randolph,  or 
Randal,  Earl  of  Murray,  — a theory  which  Allingham,  with  more  jus- 
tice than  mercy,  briefly  disposes  of  as  “ mere  antiquarian  moonshine.” 
In  point  of  fact  the  ballad  recounts  an  old,  old  story,  told  in  many  liter- 
atures, Italian,  German,  Dutch,  Swedish,  Danish,  Magyar,  Wendish, 
Bohemian,  Catalan.  The  English  offshoot  takes  on  a bewildering 
variety  of  forms.  (See  Introduction,  pp.  xiii,  xiv.)  Broo\  broth. 

P.  209.  Edward,  Edward.  After  Percy,  the  ballad  having 
made  its  first  appearance  in  the  Reliques.  Motherwell  gives  an  inter- 
esting version,  in  which  the  murderer,  who  in  this  case  has  slain  his 
brother,  is  addressed  as  Son  Davie.  There  are  German,  Swedish, 
Danish  and  Finish  equivalents.  The  old  orthography,  which  is 
retained  here  for  its  literary  interest,  cannot  obscure  the  tragic  power 
of  the  ballad.  Frie , free.  Dule  ye  drie,  grief  ye  suffer.  Tul,  till. 


THE 


Students’  Series  of  English  Classics. 


HANDY  EDITION. 


One  volume 


One  volume 


One  volume 


Phe  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  Papers  . 

Burke  — Speech  on  Conciliation  with 
America 

Webster  — First  Bunker  Hill  Oration 
Carlyle  — Essay  on  Burns 
Burns— The  Cotter’s  Saturday  Night 
To  a Mouse 

To  a Mountain  Daisy  J 

Macaulay  — Essays  on  Milton  and  Addison 
Coleridge  — The  Rime  of  the  Ancient 
Mariner 

Lo  well  — The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 
Burns  — The  Cotter’s  Saturday  Night  , 

Eliot  — Silas  Marner 

Goldsmith  — The  Vicar  of  Wakefield 

Longfellow  — Evangeline 

Milton— Minor  Poems  I 

Arnold  — Sohrab  and  Rustum  } °ne  volume  * 

Pope  — Translation  of  the  Iliad,  Books  I.,  VI.,  XXII, 

XXIV 

Scott  — The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Shakespeare  — A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream  «, 

As  You  Like  It . . . . * 

Macbeth 

The  Merchant  Of  Venice  , , 

Tennveon  — The  Princess  . , „ . - . 


NET  PRICE 
DELIVERY  CHARGES  PREPAID 

. . . , $0.25 


.25 


,25 


.25 


.25 


and 


SIBLEY  & COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


BOSTON. 


CHICAGO. 


If  & & 8 8 8 8 888 


THU 

Students’  Series  of  English  Classics. 

LIBRARY  EDITION. 

UBT  PE 

The  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  Papers  . . . < , . $0 

Arnold— Sohrab  and  Rust um 
Bates — A Ballad  Book 

Burke  — Speech  on  Conciliation  with  Amerioa  • 

Byron  — The  Prisoner  of  Chillon  ...... 

Carlyle  — The  Diamond  Necklace  . . . „ , * 

Essay  on  Burns 

Coleridge  — The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner  ~ « 

Cooper  — The  Last  of  the  Mohicans  . . . . 3 

De  Quincey  — The  Revolt  of  the  Tartars  . . 

Joan  of  Arc,  and  other  selections 

Dryden  — Palamon  and  Arcite 

Dryden,  Burns,  Wordsworth,  and  Browning  — selec- 
tions   

Eliot  — Silas  Marner 

Goldsmith  — The  Traveller  and  The  Deserted  Village 

The  Vioar  of  Wakefield 

Irving  — Selections 

Johnson— History  of  Rasselas 

Lamb  — The  Essays  of  Elia  ....... 

Longfellow  — Evangeline 

Lowell  — The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 

Macaulay  — Essay  on  Lord  Clive 

Essays  on  Milton  and  Addison  .... 

Life  of  Samuel  Johnson 

Second  Essay  on  the  Earl  of  Chatham  , 

Milton  — Paradise  Lost,  Books  I.  and  II 

Minor  Poems 

Pope  — Translation  of  the  Iliad,  Books  I.,  VI.,  XXII.,  and 

XXIV 

Ruskin— Selections 

Scott  — The  Lady  of  the  Lake 

Marmion > 

Shakespeare  — A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream  , 

As  You  Like  It  . . . , , 

Macbeth . 

The  Merchant  of  Venice  . 

Tennyson  — Elaine . 

The  Princess 

Webeter  - First  Bunker  Hill  Oration  . 


SIBLEY  & COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


BOSTON. 


CHICAGO. 


